Snowing on the Beach
by Lady-Daine
Summary: A case becomes more then a dead CIA agent and a dangerous look into government hierachy when Don finds that Charlie must become more then a watcher from the sidelines. For with the evidence comes an unstable young woman with more in common with the young
1. Chapter 1

Title: Snowing on the Beach

Author: Lady-Daine

Rating: PG (May go up later for language/violence)

Author's Note: I was sure that I would _never_ write fanfiction for a T.V. show of all things! I was _trying_ to write something original, and this just sort of popped into my head, so I'd thought I'd see where it went. Any critique would be greatly appreciated, especially about characterization and emotional development! This first chapter doesn't have a whole lot to do with the rest of the plot except to introduce characters. To be perfectly honest, I don't know where this is going. If I get a response, I'll try my best to expand! This is my first crack at T.V. fanfiction, but I'll try my best. The math that I use will be real, but I cannot reach the level of sophistication required for Mr. Epps, so please bear with any vagaries.

Extra Note: I did just post this and then take it down. After reading it online again, I was unhappy with the formatting (it was confusing) and a couple of typographical errors. It's back now! Thank you thank very much to the two reviewers who read it before I took it down. I really appreciate the critique! Also, if anyone is interested, it was brought to my attention (thank you!) that I _really_ need a Beta reader for this, if I'm to continue. Please let me know if you're interested!

Disclaimer: I have no affiliation with the T.V. show numb3rs, nor do I own any characters, concepts, or anything else relating to the show. I'm simply borrowing some of them because I was too lazy to make up my own. The poem at the beginning of the piece is mine though, but I don't think it's worth stealing…

transition of time between flashbacks and present are denoted by 358976198s because I couldn't figure out a better way...

**Snowing on the Beach**

**Chapter 1**

_Like watching fireflies_

_In a cracked mirror_

_Voices and hands_

_Linger, little more,_

_Than listless windowpanes_

_Vision blinks away quiet steps_

_Only to emerge unwilling,_

_That sends home into the shadows_

_And twists streetlights_

_Into children of metal_

_And shys away._

_A tie comes undone_

_Coarse rope is unbound_

_You see,_

_It's cold here_

_And on the beach,_

_It's snowing._

Eyes half closed, Lily slung her book-bag off of her sore shoulder and let it crash to the ground with a distinct bang. He body followed, albeit slightly more gracefully, into a sitting position. Sighing, the young woman began pulling the zippers on the orchid-colored bag, dragging them open and pulling out notebooks of various colors and sizes. _Which one first?_ She wondered nonchalantly. It didn't matter. It never did. The first book that came into her hand was blue- humanities- so she opened it to where the assignment was written and began the response questions to the latest discussion, this one involving human dependence supernatural explanations in place of scientific, and why they were so popular. It would have been interesting, had the class been comprised of more than seemingly prokaryotic teenagers. Alas, the apathy and apparent _complete absence of intelligence_ from her classmates made actual discussion, as opposed to a piece-by-piece elementary break-down of archetypical themes, impossible.

Lily sighed as she wrote the response, her pen becoming maudlin as she immersed herself in the question, daring for once, to actually think about, and articulate an answer.

"Lily!"

"Hi mom!" The older woman had just turned the corner into her daughter's room, her short brown hair falling onto the edge threshold gilding as she leaned against the doorway.

"How was school?"

"It…kind of sucked." Lily replied honestly. "I met a group of tilapia in the biology lab that had a higher IQ then that of the rest of the class combined."

"Tila- what?"

"Tilapia. Freshwater fish that people in Africa raise for food." Her mom raised her eyebrows.

"Lily, remember when you asked me to tell you when you started saying nerdy things, because you wanted to sound more normal?"

"Mm…hmm."

"That would be now." Lily smiled slightly as she looked up at the older woman, but it quickly faded in the dullness of her amusement. A year ago, something like that would have sent her into a giggle fit, but now, all she got was vague amusement.

"Sorry. I was looking up something else for the class and the word caught my eye because it matched the name on the tank. I didn't intentionally choose a nerdy word."

"I know, but I'm just…letting you know."

"Thanks." There was a brief pause, and then her mother spoke again, her kind eyes glancing down at her daughter in regret.

"I'm sorry you hate school so much. I really am." Lily looked up in the beautiful brown orbs that matched her own, now observing her slumped-over self.

"I know mom." The older woman lingered for a moment in her restive stance, and then pulled herself up, standing straighter.

"Your appointment with the therapist is today, remember?" Lily looked back down at her scrawled paragraph and continued it, nodding vaguely.

"Yeah, I know. I don't think it's going to help anything."

"I don't know Lily. I really don't. I just want you to be happy." The girl's floundering pen stopped, and she looked up again, her demeanor betraying no expression, not because she was suppressing emotion, but because she was incapable of it.

"I know mom. I really do, and I'm willing to go."

"I know Lily. I-"

1239861598719385719857983759817398571893759813

"I don't know what happened."

She followed him numbly, the cool colors of the offices curling and blurring through the back of her senses. She was cold. But the feeling was unworldly, far from physical, far from her, and even farther from reality, because reality was so far away from her.

"Nina Rissaya was a federal agent. She was protected. I don't know how someone found out about her." _Nina…that…that was my mom. But my mom wasn't a federal agent. She was a chemist. What did they find out? She was just working on particle accelerations research for Calsci. That's all. What is this about a federal agent? What does it have to do with my mom?_

"I don't know what to do with her. We can't just…" The words made her feel dirty, a dreaded chore that was being put off because no one wanted to do it.

"Relatives?" The first speaker was leaning on the corner of a desk casually, looking rather harried. She wished she could tell him to forget it, that she could take care of herself, that it didn't really matter anyway.

"Too risky. Whoever planned this wasn't alone. And at the moment, I don't know what the motive was. Could very possibly have been random, could possibly be something for revenge, someone who'd like to take out her daughter too. We just don't know enough!" He was a tall man, several inches over six feet, with short-cropped black hair. His nose and eyes were Italian, but not his skin-tone, which was pale and creamy.

"We could put her into protective custody." The other speaker was a tall, black man who was sitting straight backed and rigidly in a rolling chair. The only out of place aspect of his crisp cut figure in his suit and tie was the dirt stains spread across his knees from taking out a murderer with the gun at his waist. She had seen too many guns lately. One, to be exact.

"The kid just saw her mother die. We can't do that." The first man shot her a meaningful look, which made the black man frown.

"All the more reason to-"

"No!"

"Well then what do you suggest?"

"I don't know. There's so little. Our only suspect is dead, along with the CIA agent he was after. And you know how much the CIA hates us. It could take weeks for information. They could decide never to give us any if they wanted."

"You could take her home."

"Take her where?" The other man shrugged as the not-quite Italian looked agitated. His work-day should have ended much earlier. _I'm a pain, an extra task_.

"She'd be as safe as anywhere in your house, I mean with your brother and dad. You could stay there a couple of days, and if something goes bump in the night, you can shoot it for her." Shooting. Everything came back to that.

"I'm not going to-"

249179325798137598731295871359873198759813

"Do you ever dream?"

"Hmm?" Lily glanced up. The therapist was peering at her with something that looked like concern. The idea of a doctor looking worried should have scared her but it didn't.

"Do you have dreams?"

"Uh, yeah, of course." she responded.

"And how do you feel in them?"

"How do I feel in them?" The dark-maroon in the wall paper disturbed her senses, the colors stifling to them. Her eyes felt like choking on the dim light and diploma-covered shelves.

"Do you have emotions in them?" Lily squinted back at the shrink, wondering what had made her agree to the visit. The idea of actually talking to someone who would listen with undivided attention had appealed at first, thinking perhaps that the alienation of keeping everything to herself would be cured in the process, but now she just wanted to leave and go bottle her thoughts somewhere private.

"No, but I never have. I don't ever feel anything in dreams."

"What about nightmares? Surely you've had a nightmare that's scared you."

"Yes, but not until I'd woken up. I'm always detached in dreams, like watching everything happening rather then being in it."

"And is that how you feel now, in reality" Like you're just a spectator?" _I'm not schizophrenic, I'm bored_, she thought noncommittally.

"No, not really. I just, stopped caring about things. I mean, I function, I walk and talk and do my homework and communicate. Sometimes I laugh. But it doesn't make me happy."

"It doesn't?" Lily shook her head slowly.

"Are you upset a lot?"

"No. I get depressed sometimes when I realize how few things make me happy. But not generally."

"So you just, don't feel anything?"

"I just… exist. I don't care about anything that I used to care about- music, writing, academics, whatever. I don't hate the world, I'm just indifferent to it."

"Does anything _ever_ trigger emotion?"

"I don't know. Not really. Sometimes, now and then I guess." Lily wanted to leave, to go home and hole herself up somewhere and just sit. This was going nowhere.

"You said earlier that you dislike school. Why is that? Is it hard?." She might have laughed, but it wouldn't have been funny. She decided to vent.

"No, that's exactly the problem! It's ridiculously easy…it's useless. The teachers teach the same thing over and over again, at this snail pace that I can't stand. And they assign all this busy-work that takes forever to do, and teaches me absolutely nothing! I cold take a much, much faster pace then the supposed "honor" classes, and I wouldn't consider myself extraordinary. I'm just basically intelligent, I guess. It's stupid! Why can't they teach faster?" The shrink shifted in her chair, looking almost offended, as though the outburst had been directed at her.

"Your parents tell me that you have a tendency to push yourself very hard in school. And your transcript shows that all your classes are APs. Your report-cards are flawless."

"I haven't had to push myself at all intellectually. I mean, I push myself to get all my work done, yes, because there's a lot. But none of it is challenging. I feel like I never have to stretch my mind for anything, like it's getting all slow and useless because I never get a chance to."

"So school bores you." _For a shrink, you're not too bright_. Lily immediately bereted herself for the uncharitable thought, even though she hadn't mentioned it aloud. The shrink was just trying to help her, just trying to make sure everything was clarified. She was supposed to be trying to be more tolerant of other people to put up with them better. Mentally antagonizing the doctor wasn't productive, anyway.

"Yes. I've been trying to convince my parents to let me start college earlier, or home-school me, but they're reluctant. They think that I'm socially deficient as-is."

"Do you have friends?" Lily hesitated, and then decided that the barren truth would be the most efficient system of response.

"Yeah, there's a lot of people that would be called my friends, but honestly, they just irritate me. They seem really immature a lot of the time, all worried about their petty problems. I put up with them, in school and stuff, but, given a choice, I wouldn't choose to spend _time _with them if I didn't have to." That definitely sounded anti-social.

"Is there anyone who you do want to spend time with?"

"I like hanging out with my mom."

"Anyone else?" She shook her head. There was nothing to say that wouldn't incriminate her farther in the theoretical world of the physiatrist's mind. She'd be labeled "mentally unstable." She wasn't though. It was just how she liked things- her mind was chaotic without the bedlam of other people. She just preferred the quiet emptiness of solitude, something her mother and no one else seemed to respect. She liked silence.

38573198759813759817398579813759813795871398

"You can have this room for now.

_Breath, just breath_. She took a step forward, then another, then slowly laid the light bag she was carrying onto the oblong cover of the single bed. She couldn't remember where she had gotten it.

The cold green of the walls wrapped themselves around her, chilling the dull ache in her head, her body, her mind. She couldn't remember how many sedatives they had given her. Too many.

"We'll do something for dinner in awhile. I have to go get some things straightened out, so you can settle in, take a shower, if you want to-" He looked at her hands, which were still crusted red-brown.

Blood.

Not hers. The dark-haired man paused uncertainly and then swallowed, his expression of something that might have been sympathy. "If you want to get cleaned up. There are towels in the closet in the hall. My brother and father live here, but they're not home right now. They'll be fine with you here. My dad's really great," he made an attempt at a smile. "He'll take you in as his own as soon as he lays eyes on you. And my brother...my brother is a few years older then you, but he's a little- advanced. He spends most of his time in his own little world, so he's a bit…well, he probably won't notice you're here until you kick him, and then even then, you've got less then a fighting chance. Don't take it the wrong way if he walks around a corner and doesn't see you. I'll clear things up with them when they get home and do some introductions, but that's just a heads up.

She nodded. Anything to make him go away. She needed…she needed…she didn't know. To close her eyes, to stop thinking, to stop the images that seemed burned into her eyelids.

"You can…look around when you're done, get your bearings if you want." The dark-haired man looked at her again, looking unsure of what to say. There was a softness in his voice that she wouldn't have expected from his apparent demeanor. He cleared his throat, as though there was something caught in it. Then he nodded and left…

398579837598719387591837597853198715

"How was it?" Lily thought that her mother's eyes laughed even when she was concerned, never mockingly, but rather tenderly, with compassion. They laughed with a soft lilt that said, _there's something beautiful in everything_. If there was one thing she could focus her mind on, it was her mother's affection. It was the one thing that always warmed her, always comforted her, even when she came close to panicking for her lack of the ability to do so.

"I don't know. It might have been useless, it's hard to tell."

"It takes time, Lily." She got into her car and started the ignition. The younger woman peered out through the front window.

"Hey mom, we're only about three miles from home. Can I run it? I need the exercise, to get some tension out. Please? I'm all dressed to go to the gym anyway." Her mom glanced at her.

"I don't know. Can't you wait until we get home?"

"Mom, it's only three miles, I run past here sometimes, anyway. I'll watch out for cars, but there's not that many, honestly!" It was true- the professional complex had only one road leading into it, and it was a little-used residential street.

"Mm… alright, but if you're not home in twenty-five minutes, I'm going to be worried and send out the national-guard to look for you." Lily smiled, again rather disappointed by the lack of spark in the expression, and opened the car door, shaking her arms and legs slightly to get ready for the journey home.

"Thanks mom, I'll see you in twenty-five minutes. Bye!" She closed the car door and inhaled the warm, early-evening air. It called to her, the joyful carelessness that it held, whirling around her hair, her eyes, tugging at her clothes. Lily waved as her mother began to drive away and then began the brisk jog home, savoring the lovely freedom of open-air, taking great greedy gasps of the sweet breeze…

3184719835791387598173985713

The hot water cascaded down her back, but she shivered uncontrollably. She couldn't cry. The tears wouldn't come. She wasn't capable of them, nor could she remember the last time that she had been. The girl hated herself then. Hated herself because her mother had died in her arms and she didn't have the decency to cry. _Because I'm so cold. I can't love. I can't even be loved, I'm so cold…_

_3985713987598137985798379587135_

"Mom? Mom, I'm back!" She was sweating a bit from the exertion of her foray, but it had felt good. Not fantastic, but good.

"Mom!" Something wasn't right. She should have been right there, making dinner. Lily wandered into the small kitchen, wondering why the light blue walls suddenly looked so forbidding. Where was she? _Don't let your imagi-_ there was something on the floor.

"Mom! Mom!"

There was so much blood.

"Mom!" Someone else was there. Someone else with a gun.

There was so much blood.

Screaming. Guns; more then one. Paramedics. Needles. Numb.

9473529874398137713985719375

Silent. The stillness did nothing to sooth her mind, but the sound of her own ragged breathe taken in by no more than deaf ears was calming. Slowly, she made her way through the empty house, unsure of her steps, not caring where they took her. There was a room at the end of the hall, its door open.

She turned into it, the last gasps of the sun throwing a sharp ray of light into her eyes. The room that she had entered was accented with a large, multi-paned window, offering a dazzling view of the serenity of wildly growing greenery. Darkened emerald leaves were resting on the deep russet of huge tree-trunks. The more vibrant greenery that covered the ground served only to create the effect of an artistically rendered scene, the color darkening as it rose, and then opening and funneling open into the azure sky. The contrast centered on the darkest point, the depths of the beeches, lending them a forbidding fantasy to pace upon the gaze of the scene's beholders. She glanced at it blindly, taking in the chill of the darker colors without noticing it, drawing all the coldness of her surroundings around her like a cloak.

After several moments, the young woman turned away from the cold sunlight and brought her attention to the chamber she had ventured into. The floor was completely covered in papers, hundreds of them, from two by three poster papers to sticky-notes scattered around. There was no method to the mess of color and words, just a chaotic mass of blurring concepts. The lack of order appealed to her, registered to her much like her own thought process, and she knelt down slowly, her mind wandering to the meaning of the like-structure. The first paper to catch her eye was a simple piece of loose-leaf that looked like it had been stolen from a notebook. A legible scrawl covered the page, numbers and letters scattered everywhere. Slowly, her hand reached down and brushed it as she took in the equations and expressions, processing the variables.

There didn't seem to be rhyme, nor reason to the train-of-thought that had created the work, but it made sense to her, the first thing to seem logical since- she couldn't remember.

Someone wanted to calculate the surface-area of a triangle of space, a plane that rose upward over an area from an altitude of three thousand feet to sea-level. The mathmatician had set up several three-by-three matrices, and used the determinant matrix to solve it using three variables. It was a waste of time, she thought, that they didn't simply plug-in the known locations of the corners of the triangular space. But one of the unknowns was _I_, the imaginary number that couldn't be used as a real number in the solution. How someone could use _I_ when expressing real-surface area was beyond her, but maybe they wanted to suggest negative space. Using imaginaries didn't seem like a very efficient way of going about it, but it created some interesting possibilities in the final solution. Cramer's law covered solutions for the determinant matrix being a real number, or zero, but never an imaginary. It was a possibility that the mathematician had apparently toyed with, trying several different methods to factor out the-

"What are you doing? Don't…don't touch that-" The temporary respite of the numbers pulled away, and she realized that she freezing. Slowly, the girl raised her head slightly from where she was knelt, towards the voice that had tugged her back into reality. The figure wasn't very tall, but taller then her, maybe just reaching six feet. His dark curls framed intelligent eyes and delicate features, matching a slender body and the expression that held more fear then actual anger in it.

"There's…" he shook his head slightly, looking unsure. "There's an order to it, if it gets moved…you wouldn't understand…them…"

"You're using imaginaries in a determinant problem. You're playing with Cramer's law" She didn't know if it was a satisfactory response. It was all she could think of, though.

He looked surprised at her answer, mystified, and even more perplexed with the idea of being perplexed then actually nonplussed at the fact that she knew what she was talking about. _It really isn't difficult math until you get into it_, she thought. From the volume of paper on the floor, whoever had begun this stash was _definitely_ into it. She slowly stood up from where she had been kneeling, the awkwardness of the situation starting to creep into her mind.

"Charlie?" A voice came from down the hall and interrupted her in mid movement. She straightened slowly, her darkened eyes refusing to meet those of this strange person.

The other man who had brought her here entered the room, followed by another, older one. The three of them bore a strange resemblance to each other.

"Don?" The man with the curls had a soft, lilting voice. He turned towards the two men who had just entered the room, eyes filled with urgency, looking for some sort of guidance as to why there was a stranger wading in _his_ sea of calculations. She got the impression of a helpless animal cub without his mother, worried and lost. She had no idea how close she came in that analogy.

"Charlie. Don't worry, she's with me." The new arrival stepped forward as though to shield the two figures who were staring at each other.

"I've been charged with protecting someone for awhile, and I didn't know what to do instead of bringing her home. She has connection to… a case, and I thought that she'd be safest where I could keep a direct eye on her." It was obvious that there were several unspoken implications in his words.

The man turned towards the young woman, who stood, swaying slightly, wondering when things would stop spinning around her. She couldn't remember when they had started this particular trick, but it seemed to her that the other people and papers were floating a few feet above the ground, moving in dizzying circles.

"Lily, this is Charlie, my brother. Charlie, this is Lily."


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Snowing on the Beach

Author: Lady-Daine

Rating: PG (May go up later for language/violence)

Author's Note: Wow! Thank you so much to all my wonderful reviewers! I'm glad that you liked my writing style. I didn't know if it would work for fanfiction outside of books, but apparently the experiment is a success. And much as I _love _to get positive feedback, I'm _always_ looking for critique, because one of my goals in writing fanfiction is to become a better writer. Any and All constructive comments will be much appreciated!

Charlie is my favorite character, as I find myself relating to him constantly (math genius- no; socially deficient- most definitely) so we'll be seeing a lot more of him in the coming chapters (and a bunch in this one.)

As I write this fiction, please bear with me- I'm making up (or stealing from other books) everything I know about the CIA, and the FBI, and the specifics on the math and science are limited. Also, If anyone is interested, I still would _love_ to have a Beta reader to keep my grammar/spelling/strange and often _bad_ ideas in check.

Disclaimer: I have no affiliation with the T.V. show numb3rs, nor do I own any characters, concepts, or anything else relating to the show. I'm not making any money. I'm simply borrowing some of them because I'm tired of making up my own…

Transition between time or perspective is denoted by 31409813948190283019283019s

**Snowing on the Beach**

**Chapter 2**

So let me get this straight. Nina Rissaya was an undercover CIA agent in California, working on some kind of giant case, and-"

"What kind of case?"

"CIA won't tell us." Don Epps looked ready to punch holes in the wall. He ran his hands through his hair, tugging on the ends in frustration. Leaping up from his spindling chair the agent began pacing the narrow space between the seats and the whiteboard in the briefing room, while his companions, a willowy woman with intelligent eyes and a tall black man, gazed at him with ironic amusement, his plight giving them a brief haven from their own exasperation.

"So, the CIA won't tell us much. What do we know? Start there." Don looked down at the woman who had just spoken and shook his head in wonderment at her even tone. Even in his most obstinate moods, the other agent seemed to cut right through them, ever levelheaded, ever reasonable. He gazed up impatiently at the overly-bright florescent lights and tried to calm himself, focusing on the stark white ceiling, the gray-blue rug, the grains in the table. He took a breath and closed his eyes for a moment before starting.

"Ok, we have an undercover CIA agent dead, three shots to her-head, close range, execution style."

"Any signs of struggle?" The black man, looked almost as though he was sitting in a book discussion rather then a murder investigation, sprawled across his chair.

"The woman had a gun in her hands. The license shows it to be hers. She wasn't helpless, just a little too slow."

"Then we're talking about a surprise attack," David said immediately, looking ready for a challenge to his statement. When no one made it, he added, "I know CIA agents. They're as good as it gets. If she didn't shoot him first, he must have found a way to sneak up on her. That means we have a highly experienced murderer on our hands."

"Or more then one." Terry responded quickly, glancing at Don. "Forensics say that the three bullets weren't from the same gun. They were from three different ones. Which means either we have a very handy criminal, or-"

"Three of them." Don finished her sentence. His uneasiness about this case was more then just the missing links. It was what they _did _have. Something about a dead government agent bothered him, especially one that was undercover. Anyone a sent to work under the pretense of being a scientist while working for the CIA was someone _very_ good. Someone that good would _not_ be easy to find out, and be evenharder to take out. Someone that good didn't usually have a daughter. "But only one stuck around to get nabbed, which means that he was waiting for someone else to come home. Someone who didn't require three gunmen."

"The daughter." Terry breathed the words slowly, closing her own eyes. A child, nothing more then a child. The silence that ensured was deafening.

"What was her cover identity?" David asked, staring at one of the many documents strewn across the desk.

"Nuclear chemist, worked at CalSci. She was a graduate student at MIT when the CIA recruited her. Apparently, she only taught two classes, and devoted most of her time to research. Her focus was the theoretical existence of dark matter." Terry read off the information as she scanned the sheets of paper impatiently, looking for _something_ that might offer a hint. "It's supposedly the opposite of physical matter, and would essentially blow up anything it touched. Literally, anything. Including towns, cities, mountains, you name it."

"Sounds like a nuclear-chemist's dream." David said ironically. "I know a couple of people who would _love _to get their hands on some of that. Terry shook her head slightly.

"It's physically impossible, to create, according to a lot of people. Dr. Rissaya was only relating it to the creation of other universes. You know, the science department is close to the math sector, especially at a small school. I wonder if Charlie knew her."

"I asked this morning. He said he didn't. But I should ask again." The older agent was flipping through a notebook filled with his own scrawl. "Dad made him toast for breakfast." David looked up, startled.

"What?"

"Toast. He was more interested in the," Don couldn't help himself. He put an excited edge to his voice and heightened its pitch a little, "numerical constant for the relationship of heat to the viscosity of peanut-butter," his voice returned to its usual subdued baritone, "then in interacting with other humans." The bitterness in his tone was apparent. Terry couldn't hide her smile. David open his mouth, as though to laugh, but instead threw up his hands in frustration.

"Multiple weapons, multiple murderers, police all over the place before we even got there. The only profile we get is an undercover agent working under the pretense of a chemist. The CIA doesn't tell us to back-off, but they won't give us anything, including any information about the dead gunman. No motive, the scene is immaculate, courtesy of the CIA, and we have one nearly mute witness. Said witness is a relative. Daughter walks in right before we do, but after the suspect has been brought down," Don glanced at David who returned the gaze steadily.

"So we've got a half-conscious girl on our hands that has already managed to

get on Charlie's bad side. Beautiful."

"I didn't know Charlie had a bad side." Terry replied, covering another smile. The ever-lingering conflicting forces of leading a normal life and working murder cases was a compelling one. It was hard not to smile in good company, even if that good company was wading through puddles of blood. And yet, a single twitch of amusement could bring waves of guilt over her, the defilement of smiling in death seemingly cruel.

"What'd she do?" Terry asked. While the question seemed almost like morbid curiosity, it was actually a very businesslike inquiry- she was, after all, trained to handle human behavior and emotions. And with the lack of information they had, anything they could put their hands on was a blessing. Don shrugged, feeling the tension building in his shoulders. _I'm going to have one hell of a back-ache after this_ he thought to himself, the wispy thought floating lazily through his mind and tangling itself on the delicate strands of case-files.

"I don't know, really. She was just exploring and she found _his_ room and decided to have a look." Terry raised her head.

"A privacy violation." She murmured to herself softly. "I didn't know Charlie was so territorial."

"He nearly bit me once for throwing away a napkin with some goobly-gook written on it. She had actually _picked up_ a piece of paper from his floor. Big no-no with Charlie." It would have been funny, had the circumstances not been…

3497047081740173048710347301847180347

"Lily? Do you want to come down and eat something?" Don sighed in silent relief for his father. He didn't know what he would have done without the older man around to make things right, just as he had since the FBI agent was a young boy. As soon as Alan had heard about Lily's plight, he had become an instant fatherly figure, fussing and clicking his tongue over the girl as though she was his daughter. The subject of his thoughts moved away from the stairs and moved deftly back towards the kitchen, cooking mitt on one hand.

"What did she do all day?" Don asked in a low voice. He hadn't wanted to, but there had been no choice but to leave the girl at home through the day, seeing as her case needed investigation. Eventually, he'd probably have to see about getting her back in her school and functioning, but the smoke was still clearing, as were the flurry of thoughts that were entangled in his mind. His father's expression grew serious.

"She just stayed in her room this morning- she didn't get up or anything. I knocked on the door around ten, ten-thirty. She didn't answer so I opened it." The older man looked disturbed, almost frightened. "She was just lying there, staring at the ceiling, perfectly sprawled out on the bed, eyes open. If I couldn't see her breathing, I would have thought that she was-" he paused, unwilling to finish the sentence. He knew when his son decided to become an FBI agent that he would have to face trails such as the one before him, but he _didn't_ think that they would come in the form of a child.

Don frowned, a headache beginning to form at his temples. He _couldn't_ handle this. He was an FBI agent, not a babysitter, and not a people person. The psychology of a teenage girl was not one of the things they taught in school.

"She's been there all day?" he asked with a sigh. Alan shook his head.

"She came down the stairs some time after noon. She didn't look like she had slept. I was dusting furniture in the living-room. She just took an extra cloth and started helping me, going over all the pieces that I'd missed. Didn't say a word, didn't raise her eyes, poor thing. Just kept working until it was done. The same thing happened with the rest of the chores. I tried talking to her, but it was like talking to Charlie- nothing. When I was done, she just walked back upstairs" The older man laid a comforting hand on his son's shoulder. "I think you've got yourself in pretty deep with this one." Don shook his head, willing his headache away.

"I'll go…talk to her, I guess." Terry should have been there- she was the people person, not him. _Maybe I'll have her over for dinner tomorrow and she can try her luck_. Tiredly, Don climbed the stairs towards the old guest bedroom. The room had been his, until it was converted into a spare when he had gone to college. Having someone else in it was still an odd experience, even after years of living outside the house.

When Don reached the end of the hallway, he looked up, surprised, to see Charlie pacing outside the door, looking agitated.

"Charlie, what's up?" his brother asked quizzically. His headache was worsening. He glanced around at the cool colors of the upstairs, blues and greens fading into a hoary background. The desire to wrap himself in them and curl away from his own mind was almost overpowering. It was not to be. The curly-haired figure in front of him looked up, startled.

"Don…uh, there's a book in there." He glared at the wood of the door as though trying to bore a hole through it. Don squinted at him.

"Yeah, there are a lot of books in there Charlie. There's a shelf with-" Charlie looked even more exasperated at Don's fatigued tone, as though he thought his brother was intentionally antagonizing him. Don, for his part, quickly found himself annoyed with Charlie's half-spoken thoughts.

"There's a book _I need_ for...something." he replied, an edge of impatience creeping into his voice.

"Then why don't you knock and ask if you can come in and take it?" Don asked angrily, pushing past the younger man and heading towards the doorway. The brilliant mathematician looked spellbound. Don cursed under his breath and rapped on the door softly. There was no answer. He tried again. Still nothing. His headache spread into an already sore back and shoulders. The man thought he might crumble apart at any moment. Don stole one more look at Charlie, who had stopped pacing and was now staring at him expectantly, and entered the room.

"Lily?" Don steeled himself for the worst, squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them. The lovely amber-gold of the sun was making its way gently into the darkened room, playing softly off of the oblong shapes in the emerald bedcover. The slightly paler walls echoed the color calmly, cooling the setting of the chamber and offering it a tranquil air.

The young woman was standing in front of the warm wood of the oak bookshelf, her eyes not quite seeing what was in front of her. The myriad of colors that the covers exuded was a sharp contrast to her pale features and limp coffee-brown hair. It hung loosely to her mid-back, the locks curling slightly as they reached out.

Upon hearing her name, Lily lifted her chocolate colored eyes ever so slightly, so as to stare at Don's shoes. She looked like a lost naiad in a cold forest, with the light coming across her face, turning her slight form into a study of shadows and glow. There was an emptiness within her very aura that struck the FBI agent immediately, and he involuntarily choked on the air her was breathing. He knew that look.

_He wouldn't come out of the garage and go see her. The heartless little brat was too wrapped up in his numbers to say goodbye to his dying mother. Don shoved open the door to the dusty little structure and made his way towards his younger brother who was feverishly scrawling numbers across one of his blackboards. Unable to control himself, he took hold of Charlie's shirt and tugged- hard. The young man went flying across the small space and smacked against the adjacent wall, looking stunned._

_"Damn-it Charlie! Our mother is struggling for every damn breath and you're done here with your…your…" The younger man- a child- looked up slowly, his hands bracing himself against the wall he had been slammed against, gasping for air._

That look.

The Man who had stood by and watched as bleeding and wrecked bodies were led past him without so much as flinching was struck to the bone. He stood there, absolutely stunned, his dark eyes locked on hers.

"Don?" Charlie broke the spell, coming up behind his brother, hands stuffed in his pockets. The curly-haired man looked nervous as he took quick appraisal of his brother's rigid form. Slowly, Don broke himself away from the gaze of the broken figure in front of him and tried to focus on his brother. The shorter man was wearing a forest-green tee-shirt with the words, "CalSci" printed on it, and faded blue jeans.

"My book? Can I have my book?" The slight worry he might have felt at his brother's hesitation was forgotten in favor of his math. That was how it had always been. Unless he _knew_ that there was a dilemma, Charlie was oblivious, and even then, he would refuse to let himself believe there was an issue until it looked him in the face. He ran from trouble- he always had. Charlie only liked certain problems. Math problems. For a moment, the image of the garage was superimposed over the older man's eyes, and the anger of the moment came back to him.

"Damn-it Charlie, the girl just watched her mother die! She just had her whole world shredded into pieces, and she has no damn idea why! And the bastard who shot her has friends who are very probably still out there, and very possibly interested in putting a bullet through her head! And all you care about it your-" Don shook his head, the agony in his temples having spread through his brain. It felt as though his mind might split apart at any moment. He hadn't meant- for both Charlie and Lily's sake- to say what he had, but the words had spilled out as easily as his brother's numbers.

The younger man's countenance changed from impatience to fear, and from there, to pain. He backed up slowly, away from his brother, past the threshold and against the wall of the corridor. Charlie's hands were shaking, and he shook his head ever so slightly.

"I'm…sorry, I didn't, I didn't-" The mathematician turned around and raced down the hall, out of sight. Don stood for a moment, and watched him, wondering if he would regret his harsh words in the near future. With another breath, he turned back to the girl, who hadn't moved throughout the whole exchange.

"Do you want to come down to eat something?" he asked, trying as hard as he could to keep his voice even. It was pain and fear in those eyes, but more then that- a sense of such confusion, loss, the inability to account for anything, including her own emotions. She couldn't control them, couldn't understand, and couldn't deal with her own mind. And the pain of that, without one she loved to comfort her, to help her get back on the wandering path of her mind, was horrific in its intensity. She just _couldn't _exist, because she was stranded in the oblivion of her own making, and it was very close to pushing over her the edge. Of what, it was impossible to fathom.

Lily shook her head slowly, precisely, as though it were a move in a dance, and moved her gaze back to the floor. Don couldn't bring himself to say anything else, so he nodded and turned, closing the door behind him.

2739182379817239871233356435

"Charlie is in his garage." Alan looked at Don expectantly as his son entered the kitchen slowly. The younger man couldn't remember how he had made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen, but now he was standing at the loaded table, vaguely wondering if he could bring himself to eat the decadent food set before him.

"Oh."

"Oh?" Alan raised his eyebrows and studied his son's eyes, disturbed at what he found in them. Don shrugged and collapsed into the nearest chair. He wanted to go back to the office. The empty tranquility that it would bring appealed to his raw senses.

"I yelled at him."

"You yelled at him."

"Yes, that's what I said!" the FBI agent's temper snapped again, and he lashed out at his father's innocent words. There was a long, unpleasant pause. Finally, Don spoke into the silence.

"I'm sorry, It's been..." he trailed off and buried his head in his hands. "Oh God, I can't even look at her, and the case is a complete dead end. There's nothing there for us- no trail, no suspects, and no leads. The CIA took everything, and yet they're still holding us responsible for it. And-"

"No equation?" Alan's shock at his son's outburst settled quickly, and he set a bottle of aspirin down in front of him with a glass of water, before taking a seat across the table.

"Charlie probably won't go near this thing with a ten foot pole. I just… I don't know what happened. He wanted a book or something in the guest room, and was distracted and didn't seem to notice anything but whatever it was that he-"

"As usual." Alan chimed in. Don's eyes were stinging, and he gulped down the tablets in front of him.

"He was just being- Charlie, I know, but he was being so insensitive, and I've had one hell of a day. I just let loose on him. I haven't done that since…probably since mother-" he didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to.

"He'll get over it." Alan said decidedly, picking up a bowl of broccoli and dishing himself some before handing it over to Don's limp hands, which were still propped on the table. He fumbled the bowl and quickly caught it, wondering how he'd gotten off so easily. "But you should go talk to him." His father amended.

"And apologize for being angry because he was being so damn insensitive?"

"Language, Don."

"Sorry dad, but he's got to learn this lesson eventually. Not everyone in the world is going to appreciate the fact that he's too busy tossing numbers around to pay attention to someone besides himself."

"I know, I've had that conversation with him many times. But he can't change who he is Don, nor can we, and frankly, given a choice, I wouldn't in a million years. I love your brother, his mind, and lack of thereof. And I know that you do too. We have to be patient."

"We've been patient for almost thirty years!" The younger man didn't know why he was carrying on the argument, but he couldn't help himself. He was tired of failing, tired of feeling as though everyone was beating on him. Tired of feeling insufficient.

"Don, if I had to wait for eternity, I would." Alan's eyes were serene as he began cutting up a piece of salmon that was on his plate, but his son could see layers of pain and fatigue behind them. He suddenly felt guilty for his sharp remarks. Slowly, he pushed himself away from the table.

"Alright, I'll talk to him."

23040348092384028304982903843

Charlie laid his hand gently across the calculations on his blackboard, his hand gripping a piece of chalk for dear life. His dark eyes scanned his work, a sense of both adoration and loathing in their glittering focus. With a sigh, he took a step away from it and ran his other hand through his dark locks, closing his eyes. They were heavy from lack of sleep. But that wasn't right- he had gone to bed early the night before. No- he had been up late struggling with- something. His mind vaguely pictured himself scrawling over blackboards in his classroom until well past midnight. He had been home but- he couldn't handle…it.

So he went back to school. But then he had slept in- his first class hadn't been until- no, that wasn't true. He had gone in early to help Larry with something. But the night before- the night before was the same. Charlie shook his head vigorously, as though trying to throw off the sleepiness that had overtaken him, but it was fruitless.

In fact, his whole body felt weak, his lithe limbs sagging even as he struggled to continue his work. P verses NP again. The ironic duality of his desire and repulsion to continue the elusive problem nagged at his mind, but he forced the feelings away. There was only the numbers. Only the numbers. Numbers didn't lie or bleed. Numbers didn't die.

As the calculations flowed from his mind, through his fingers and out onto the boards, Charlie relaxed and fell into his trance-like state of thought. It came as a jolt to him when everything stopped. He was in the middle of writing a "2" and his arm just… halted. He stumbled forward, trying to collect himself, yet unable to catch the strand of thought that he had lost. Raising his hand to the board again to write something, he found that nothing would come. When he drew back into his mind, looking for more numbers to spill out onto the board, he found it blank. The young man took a step back, wondering if taking a larger look at his work would help clear his head. Immediately, he stumbled and fell ungracefully backwards, landing on his back and staring up at the wood-planked ceiling.

Charlie blinked for a moment in surprise, wondering how he had seemed to bridge the space-gap between standing and lying positions without a time interval following suit. He was also somewhat curious to know why his blackboards were spinning above him. That didn't _usually _happen. Slowly, he pushed himself off of his back and made to stand up again, but the world continued to tilt around him, and he didn't want to end up back where he had found himself moments again. Resting on his elbows, Charlie again stared up at his work, trying to read the numbers even as they bounced up and down as though on a boat in a stormy sea.

_Don's eyes, full of disgust and loathing. He didn't understand. He didn't understand that…_

_Her eyes. That look. He hadn't meant to look. He just wanted the book on the theoretic properties of dark matter. Larry had said that he'd find some interesting physical properties that contradicted math laws. He said it would be easier to- But those eyes. He knew those eyes. It was like looking into a sadistic mirror._

The walls of the garage began to sink inwards, the coziness of being surrounded by his own work was lost on Charlie in favor of a cold fear that came over the mathematician. He couldn't keep it out anymore. It had penetrated his numbers- his last defense again the cruel world around him. It was taking him in, closing him in, locking him in a section in his mind that he couldn't bring himself to visit. A place that housed images of the past, images that only came in nightmares, and left him sweating and screaming.

Charlie forced himself up, a look of sheer terror on his face as he bolted out of the garage, the chalk flying from his numb hands. The wall that he had held up so long that partitioned his mind away from…certain things, was wearing awfully thin. For the first time in a long while, the young man found himself sprinting with all the power that he could muster in his legs- across the dark lawn, up towards the lighted beacon of _his_ house. The ground wasn't steady- it swayed under his frantic feet, and he stumbled terribly, nearly losing his balance several times. His breath came in quick gasps but he forced himself to continue, stuffing a fist in his mouth to keep away the cries that were threatening to escape.

Above him, the sky wound itself into a tapestry of hoary and black, the silvery stands of starlight frisking through the darkness that had overtaken the sky and forced it into submission. Charlie saw none of it. He was too busy watching- watching Don scream at him, over and over again, seeing _those eyes_. _That look_. Seeing himself. He stepped through an active sprinkler, soaking himself to the bone, but he couldn't feel it. There was only the agony, the torture of being pushed to the edge, and dangled over it. It was too much, too much.

Charlie burst through the back door and up the stairs, across the hall towards his bedroom. He just needed to get inside, to pull open the covers of his bed and lie down and let the darkness sooth it away. He would just sit still and let the pain end. Why was his shell, after being hardened through the years, suddenly cracking into nothing? _Those eyes. That look_. It seemed like forever, but in truth, it took the mathematician only a few minutes to make his way up to the intended destination.

He got to the (now firmly closed) door to his room and had his hand on the handle when he heard the noise. It was soft, barely discernable, even in the silent hallway, but it was enough to give the mathematician pause. He froze with his fingers on the knob, and listened, schooling his breath to settle into the silence. It happened again. A sob. No, not a sob. A gasping, lung-wracking, shuddering breath. _A young man, the tears rushing down his cheeks as the chalk began to disintegrate in his salty hands._ _That look._

Charlie slowly pulled himself away from the door, almost detached from his own movements. He strode across the floor that separated his room from the spare, listening, just barely hearing it physically, but the same sound emotionally screaming across his psyche. He reached the barrier of a closed door, seeing right through it. Seeing the shaking, the shivering. He knew the frigid ice that was settling around its inhabitant. He knew those eyes. He knew _that look_.

Shaking, a chalk-stained hand reached out and touched the door, running its fingers down the wood-grained surface.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Snowing on the Beach

Author: Lady-Daine

Rating: PG (May go up later for language/violence)

Author's Note: Thanks again, everyone, for the critique and compliments! I _love_ feedback of any kind! Before the next chapter starts, I just wanted to note a few things about my writing. Firstly, I'm a surrealist, so a lot of my writing gets- a bit on the poetic side. I know it's probably not the best thing in the world for T.V. fanfiction, but hey, it's different. Secondly, I try to stay as far away from myself as possible when I'm writing. I want to create people, not just mimic them, so no one in this story (though I relate to them, on occasion) is remotely based off of me. The only exception I made to this, was a bit about colorguard in the next few chapters. I couldn't resist- I'm a band-nerd to the core… so, apologies for that.

So, without further ado, your chapter awaits.

Disclaimer: I have no affiliation with the T.V. show numb3rs, nor do I own any characters, concepts, or anything else relating to the show. I'm simply borrowing some of them because I was too lazy to make up my own.

**Snowing on the Beach**

**Chapter 3**

"Charlie?" Don slowly made his trek across the dark grass, avoiding sprinklers and holes as he moved towards the lighted garage. Stopping in the middle of the lawn, he halted for a moment and stared up into the inky sky, glancing at the streaks of silver that marked the end of one reality and the beginning of another. The stars had always reminded him a great deal of his brother- something awesome, beautiful, frustrating at times, and untouchable.

"Charlie?" The door to the smaller structure were open, the dim light spilling out from inside. Frowning, Don stepped in and peered around, looking for the familiar form of his brother, scratching away. What he found was silence.

Numbers, as usual, littered the pilfered blackboards that lined the walls, but there were no more figures going up. The wood-board floor was empty, save for several white pieces of chalk, left scattered around. A few pieces of notebook paper fluttered aimlessly when a gentle breeze disturbed the stillness. The agent frowned. It was not like Charlie to leave this place as it was- scattered and messy. Not that his brother was neat, not by any means, but he did have a certain _order_ that he liked things in. Chalk on the ground, lights on, and- Don stared at the board with the freshest marks on it, filtering the mumbo-jumbo through his brain. The last symbol written in his brother's hasty scrawl was most definitely half a "2". _That_ was definitely not Charlie.

A twinge of worry caught up in Don's chest, but he shrugged it off, forcing himself to calmly pick up the strewn chalk and rest it on a shelf, then turn off the lights and head back up to the house. He couldn't help the half-run that brought him there.

As he moved through the door, Alan, still at the table, looked up expectantly, his eyes obviously demanding a conclusive reason for his son's sudden return.

"He's not there anymore." Don obliged his curiosity quickly, hopping onto the steps that led upstairs. "He must have come in through the back or something." Alan raised his eyebrows, but made no comment, going back to his dinner as Don raced up the stairs, his heart pounding.

291739871293871298371827398712

"That wasn't very nice." Lily stopped in mid-turn and stared at her mother, who was still dressed in the stark white lab-coat of her profession.

"What wasn't nice?" the girl asked, continuing the routine, her wooden rifle whirling around one hand to the other as the soft melody played from the beat-up CD player in the background.

"Writing a paper on the imperfections of your English teacher." Lily caught the rifle in one hand and put it down before kneeling to stop the CD play. She sat down and turned towards where her mother was standing, hands on hips, her _don't start with me_ expression on her face.

"I got an A on it." Lily shrugged and looked down at her faded blue jeans, tracing the sand-blown patterns with her hand.

"That doesn't make it OK."

"It was an open assignment."

"Lily!" Her mother walked over and put a hand under her daughter's chin, forcing the girl to look up at her.

"Lily, you are a very intelligent person, as well as a very sensitive person, and I respect you for it. But you cannot come down on people for their flaws! You're not perfect! Can you imagine receiving a paper that detailed everything that was wrong with you?"

"It wasn't what was wrong with her, it was what was wrong with her cl-"

"That," her mother interrupted her defense sternly, brown eyes angry. "is no different. Lily, this woman has a master's degree in English, and probably in education as well. Believe it or not, she _knows_ what she's doing. _You_ on the other hand, are under her guidance, and know _nothing _about education. Before you seek to judge her wrongs, look at yourself? What credibility do you have to tell her how to teach an English class?" Lily pouted. She was not given to temper-tantrums, but she _hated_ more then anything to anger her mother. And the woman was definitely angry. _Over nothing_ she thought with a mental frown.

"It was just a paper mom!"

"I want you to apologize to her."

"Mom!"

"It was a personal insult. Lily- no, look at me!" Sulkily, the young woman stared up into her mother's eyes. "You are very smart, I just told you that. But you are extremely intolerant of others. And you are arrogant." She didn't say anything else- she didn't have to. The words stung harshly enough without any added punishment or condemnation. The woman stalked back into the house, leaving her daughter to stare at the concrete below her. Lily sat for several moments in silence, absorbed in her morose thoughts. Slowly, she stood, kicking the music player back on. The rifle begin to spin between her hands, higher, higher. Then, strangely, so did everything- the ground, the sky…

Lily sat up quickly, her eyes wide, chest heaving. She felt sick, a bitter taste on her tongue, her body covered in cold sweat. Looking around, she took in the still-alien surroundings. The room was dark, with even blacker shapes nestled among the shadows, the outline of the bookshelf and dresser looming over her.

She had fallen asleep draped over the side of the bed. She hadn't meant to go to sleep. Sleep meant dreams- dreams scared her. It seemed however, the exhaustion had overtaken her. It was strange, she felt even more tired then she had _before_ she had dozed off.

Her body complaining about the sudden movement, Lily pulled herself up and put her feet on the floor, moving slowly, carefully, so as to keep the lightheaded dizziness at bay. As she moved towards the window, she tried to recall the details of the dream that was slipping out of her mind as moonlight that streamed from the window fell from the palms of her hands. What color had her shirt been? What song had been playing? It wasn't what had really happened- it was only her perception of a twisted unconscious, and it was swiftly losing its potency.

Her feet sliding on the sleek hardwood of the floor, Lily moved towards the window that provided the only light in the room, eyes for the first time in days turned up towards the windows. The glittering sky played across her face, adding a sparkle to her eyes that had been so frigidly absent over the previous few days. At long last, a tear began to make its way down one pale cheek, capturing starlight. _I just don't know if I can hold on. There's just nothing to grab on to…_

147182734981723981729837129873981729381729387

Don scrambled up the staircase and into the corridor, stopping abruptly at the sight that met him. Charlie was sprawled outside Lily's door, his lithe body curled up across the hallway, legs folded up neatly. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing deeply, obvious asleep. Frowning, Don lightened his step and moved closer, watching the light tee-shirt flutter up and down with his brother's breathing. He looked so very young, so fragile, his tangled curls covering up part of his face. A child, and yet, never one, and again yet, into the years of a society's perception of adulthood.

"Charlie," Don whispered softly, coming closer and kneeling at his brother's side. "Charlie, wake up." The command yielded no result. His brother remained firmly in the world of dreams, unreachable, even more so then usual, and untroubled, at least, for the moment. Even that, Don could not be sure of. "Charlie, can you hear me?". Still, the older brother's words were not heeded, so he stood up with a sigh, laying one of his arms on the younger man's shoulder. Just seeing him there made the FBI agent feel guilty for his earlier outburst. Shaking his head, Don allowed himself one more mournful look before sighing and standing up. Turning around, he walked back down the hall, feeling lost in his own home.

Charlie watched his brother leave through slit eyes. He _had_ been dosing, but the other man's footsteps had brought him out of the half-dream he was having. It had involved numbers- they always did- but he was almost able to ignore them now. However, the idea of facing his brother so very soon was impossible, so he had waited in hopes of the older man leaving. He had been in luck.

Taking a deep breath, Charlie turned over towards the door, wondering why he was still leaning against it, and stared at the wood-grains, subconsciously calculating the length of the lines that ran the width of it. He still didn't understand….understand anything, but for some reason, he felt calmed where he was- not sheltered, or safe, but rather, out of the onslaught, behind another barrier.

He had almost dosed off again when the door that he had been staring at suddenly cracked open. The sudden movement startled him, and he jumped, looking up towards the source of the disturbance. In the gloom, he saw a pair of hazel eyes looking down at him, shocked. He shared the sentiment.

Their gazes meeting, the two of them could only stare into the darkness for several moments, fearing to move or breath. Finally, Charlie inhaled sharply.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" his words shook slightly as they came out, the tone almost a whisper. He didn't know any of the variables in the equation. He didn't know where it had happened, or how, or why, but he knew that it hurt. It seems that people are so often too immersed in detail to worry about the heart of their woes. What did the variables matter anyway? They all came to the same solution. It hurt.

Lily stared at the curly-haired shadow who had been keeping vigil outside of the door in wonderment for several moments. Those eyes…those eyes understood. _No, those eyes are lying_…

"I'm…air." She couldn't focus her words enough to articulate sentences, only thoughts, only inconsistent thoughts that echoed uncomfortably through her. She realized that her throat hurt, throbbed really, and that it was dry and raspy, but it didn't really matter. She couldn't bring herself to let it matter. _Nothing matters_. She wanted to run, she wanted to go outside, to get away from the stifling confinement, but his legs were in the way, and she didn't know how to tell him to move them.

Charlie stared at her for another moment and then cautiously stood up, suddenly timid, intoxicated with the confrontation and terrified of it. He lifted his arm up, slowly, and then brought it back down again, his eyes still caught on the tragic figure in front of him, his mind outlining her shape with equations that weren't just made up of numbers. The young woman, for her part, took a gasp of air and made her way unsteadily past him, aware, for the first time, of her surroundings. Even as she made her way purposefully down the hallway and onto the stairs, she felt the shadows of the night moving around her, the memories caught in mercury and hung in frames, their contents locked by the blackness that was not quite complete. She could see other closed doors, perhaps with dreamers behind them that were away from the world she inhabited. She saw his eyes on her back.

The unsteady walk became a stride, and from there a run. She tore down the stairs, hair flying behind her, grabbing for doors, throwing them open. Within moments, she stood out on the darkness of the lawn; her bare feet nestled softly in shadowy greens, eyes turned upwards for the first time in days. She _didn't know_. She just didn't know…anything, anything at all. She wasn't a physical implement of the place where she stood, but rather, a wandering shape, a sort of anti-existence upon which her conscious separated from her flesh.

Charlie was never more then a few steps behind her. She was pulling him into her silken web of sorrow, but it was a voluntary journey that he was taking. He knew the way. He had already been there.

"I can't figure it out." It was the first time she had spoken to anyone in- days? Weeks? It was so hard to remember. The words were stilted, but a hint of the melodious soprano was discernable, along with a flavor of regality and a taste of bitterness, the normal palate of her tone. Charlie jumped when he heard her words, having been wrapped up too much in his own thoughts.

"Sometimes….sometimes there's no solution." He didn't know what compelled him to speak- except for what he wished someone could have said to him years ago.

Lily turned around, seemingly surprised to see him still standing here.

"I've never not been able to figure it out."

"Null-set, like in the determinants from earlier. If the determinant of the coefficient matrix is zero, and the X or Y matrices have value, then there is no solution. It's the same with all systems." It was comforting, if only a little, to wrap himself in his math.

"But there's still a solution- every equation has a solution, even if it's no solution."

"A null-set isn't a solution"

"I can't find the null-set."

Charlie shrugged. He didn't know what else to do. He could barely make out the face in the semi-darkness, but he could sense her presence, the instability of her stance, her breathing long and labored.

"Can you touch me?" Lily turned her eyes away from the sky and turned towards the mathematician.

"What?"

"Touch me. I want to know if I still exist." Charlie shook his head and looked at his feet, his head spinning.

"Of course you exist. Law of conservation of matter- that's high school chemistry. Nothing can be added or-"

"But something's missing." Lily interrupted him, breaking through the comfort he was trying to attain.

"That's impossible."

"Have you ever heard of anti-matter?" Anti-matter. Chemistry. Cal-Sci. Research. Mother. Each word hit her like an ice-storm.

"Yes, but-"

"To be impossible is impossible."

His hand shaking, Charlie reached out slowly, deliberately, his eyes meeting hers, the darkness becoming obsolete to his senses. Lightly, his fingers brushed against her salt-streaked cheeks.

2193710237012739817298371298739878979827139721973

"Agent Epps? Agent Hernandez, CIA." The man was taller, even taller then the FBI agent, with thin graying hair and a salt-and-pepper mustache that badly needed trimming. His heavy build showed no signs of the age that his faced revealed, and left little doubt in Don's mind that the man would be a nasty opponent in physical combat. The spark of intelligence and ice in his slate-gray eyes made it clear that his wit as equally as imposing as his figure.

"Sir, we're glad to have you." Don replied, nodding slightly and hoping that the bitter edge in his tone hadn't shown through. It was still only eight in the morning, but already, he felt hopelessly lost in the case that had suddenly consumed his life. To finally _see_ someone who might be able to offer a hint was a little bit encouraging, but no small part of him wished to glare mercilessly at the visitor and growl, _It's about time._

Trying to contain his anger, and look as professional as possible, Don waved the man into the briefing room and signaled for Terry and David, who had been trying to glance inconspicuously over at the two men, to follow. They obliged, and within moments, the four of them were seated, the former three staring intently at the latter, eager for more information. Slowly, Agent Hernandez cleared his throat.

"We left this case to you because we felt as though the FBI could handle it. Our agents don't often deal with…petty crimes." His cool tone was patronizing, signifying his obvious accordance with the traditional rivalry between the two agencies. Don couldn't hold his tongue.

"You call murder a petty crime?" His eyes flashed angrily between memories of the bloodstained floor and a screaming girl. The older man shrugged.

"Murder, grievous as it may seem, is hardly something worth spending the federal attention of the CIA on, when there are, say, terrorists on the loose and possible intelligence breeches at any moment." His eyes were empty of any compassion.

"Don't you care why one of your undercover agents was found out? Don't you want to know what she had found out before she died?" Don opened his mouth to continue the tirade, but was silenced with a single look from Terry. The CIA agent looked as though he hadn't heard of a word of the outburst.

"We know what we need to know, agent Epps, trust me." Don counted slowly to ten and stared at the carpeted floor, willing his temper under control. "But what we are curious about, and my reason for stopping in today," the other man's referral to "stopping in" almost seemed like he meant some sort of social event, "was to find out what _you _know. We want to know what you've found out."

"If you know what you want to know, why do you want to know what we've found out?" Don demanded fiercely, hating the man for his insensitivity. And to think he had been so hard on his brother.

"That does not concern you, agent Epps." The other man's voice softened ever so slightly. "We're on the same side here, and believe it or not, we are deeply concerned about the death of an agent, but this isn't a one man-or woman- world. The CIA doesn't go down with one of its agents. That's why there are multiple groups- so what we can pick up the slack for each other." Don turned his head sideways, mimicking his brother's gesture of uncertainty.

"We've got almost nothing- the scene was pretty clean. We know she was a chemistry professor at CalSci, had a daughter, was shot three times with different guns, more then one murderer, at least, that's our theory" He started slowly, choosing his words carefully, ticking off important information. "We started looking into her research at CalSci today, trying to discern motives for death, but honestly, we were hoping that you'd fill us in on some of this. Why was the woman undercover in the first place? Can't you give us something?" He refused to look at the man as he said the words, not wanting to sound as though he was begging. Hernandez shook his head slowly.

"I cannot disclose that."

"Even to another federal Agency?"

"It's too risky, especially with accomplices still loose."

"Can you give us something?" David asked suddenly. Don jumped, having forgotten that his two counterparts were still there. The CIA agent shrugged.

"I had orders to get a briefing from you, that's all. I follow orders." He glanced around as though daring one of them to protest. When they were satisfactorily silent, he continued.

"You said there was a daughter. Where is she now?" Don hesitated. CIA or not, he didn't like the evasive nature of the other agency. While he had to admit that he wasn't immune to the natural rivalry between them, this went far deeper then that. He did _not like_ the attitude that the CIA was exuding on this case. Not in the least.

"We sent her to the hospital," Terry spoke up softly, "she went into state custody from there. They might have released her- she's eighteen, technically an adult. We'll eventually have to track her down for questioning, but she was unstable at the scene, so we figured it best to wait until things settled down." Hernandez looked somewhat disturbed at the news, but he quickly hid the expression under one of indifference.

"Very well, I think that our business is complete. I'll let myself out." Without another word, the man stood up, strode across the briefing room, and left.

"What the hell? What the f-" David stood up as soon as the man was out of hearing range and banged his fist heavily against the wall of the small room that he occupied. "We have almost nothing on this case, and when the CIA finally sends us an agent, he stays only long enough to mock us and then just leaves?" He stuffed his face in his hands, as Don sat, perplexed, and disturbed. Finally, after several moments, he turned to Terry.

"Why did you lie about the girl?"

"Why do you think?" The woman responded, her eyes flashing with frustration that she wouldn't express. "Something's up, and until we know what it is, I think that she's safer with you then with anyone, let alone the CIA. It's possible that this is something that's too delicate to spread, and they're just trying to keep everything clean. Whatever it is, it's weird." Don nodded in agreement and stared into space, his mind against aghast with information, none of it useful.

"Terry, did you delve into the files at CalSci?" he asked finally, still only half listening to the conversation.

"Yeah, I have a big box in my car that Charlie should look at. A lot of it is more science then math, but there's a lot of numbers and chances are that he'll have some idea of what it all means. It's all the papers that we could find in her office and classes. And we're going to interview a bunch of professors tomorrow morning. Someone had been there before we were. There wasn't nearly enough clutter for an academic in her office. "

"Alright. Let's go. Much as I hate it, I think we need to have a chat with Lily. There's something going on here that isn't healthy."

"You mean besides the fact that you haven't eaten or slept in the last three days?" Terry stood up and pulled on Don's arm. He shook his head, eyes still following the trail of a CIA agent, as though looking for the remaining essence of the man, perhaps a trail of slime on the floor.

135841222411513798173917289

"Colorguard? What color do you guard?" Charlie was situated underneath a tree in the yard, his back pressed against the bark. Lily was nearby, sitting in the grass and plucking strands of it.

"It's not…that," her voice still reverberated with exhaustion- among other things, but it sounded alive enough for the moment. The older man had been prodding her since three that morning to tell him something about herself that made her… happy. All he could remember was equation after equation in the dimly lit garage. She needed _her_ equations, now, more then ever. The repair work could be done later. Now, it was just holding on. _Not terribly shady for mathematician. I wondered if that psychology class they made me take would ever serve any purpose. _

"Well what is it?" his voice was genuinely curious, enough to make Lily look up at him, abandoning her idle grass-murdering activities.

"It's…well, sort of like dance. But there's also spinning, flags and weapons, in a routine. Haven't you ever seen a marching band or something like that?" Charlie shook his head.

"You never went to a high-school football game and saw a marching band or a drum corps perform?" Again, Charlie shook his head, for once, totally ignorant.

"I wasn't into- that stuff, in high school." He didn't mention that attending a _social_ event would have likely resulted in several nasty glares and muttered comments about the gawky twelve-year-old who was taking college level calculus.

"Well, I mean, I spun rifle and flags. And you do it to music, with the band."

"You spun a what?"

"A rifle- it's wood, not a real gun. It's shaped to look like one, though, and wrapped in tape. And it's, weighted so that it spins very fast." She gestured vaguely with her hands to show what she meant. Charlie squinted at her.

"What were the weight proportions?" Lily shrugged.

"I don't know, I'll show you one…sometime." The last words were cut off, almost caught away in the slight breeze that blew through the grass. There wasn't any direction anymore. She didn't have anywhere to go, or anyone to tell her to go there, and no reason to be moving anyway.

"But you dance?" Charlie was still bamboozled by the idea of a spinning rifle, but the dancing seemed straight forward enough.

"Yeah." She looked away, across towards the still house that she had so eagerly fled only the night before. Something about the idea of dancing turned her stomach. Dancing was a memory. Memories always ended at one place. A place that was too close still.

"And you? You do… math?" She turned back towards her older companion, willing him to take the burden of the conversation.

"Yeah, you could say that." Charlie almost smiled at the blissful ignorance on the girl's face as she spoke to him. Asking him if he did math. Would she ask him if he breathed, next?

"What exactly, um, do you do?"

"I'm a professor of mathematics at CalSci. I teach applied mathematics, and advanced levels of calculus." The familiar words were comfortable in his mouth, more so then his awkward questions. Lily didn't respond. She was staring back at the house, lost again in her thoughts, lost again in the depths of the places where light was immediately absorbed and destroyed. Anti-existence.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Snowing on the Beach

Author: Lady-Daine

Rating: PG (May go up later for language/violence)

Author's Note: Again, thanks a bunch to all my reviewers for their lovely feedback. I would, shamelessly, ask that you drop another review if you get a chance, and as always, the more critique the better! Especially in the coming chapters, I'm working a lot with character emotion and development, which is thin ice for me. Also, FYI to my divine readers, I am trying to keep a steady weekly update, but things like umm, classes, and, uh, life, tend to get in the way of my writing sometimes, so this might not be a consistent schedule.

Disclaimer: My editor always takes care of this. My imaginary editor that is. I have no affiliation with the T.V. show numb3rs, nor do I own any characters, concepts, or anything else relating to the show. I'm simply borrowing some of them because I was too lazy to make up my own. The poem at the beginning of the piece is mine though, but I don't think it's worth stealing…

**Snowing on the Beach**

Chapter 4

"How long have they been out there?" Don peered out of the large glass window into the spacious yard that he had grown up in. Charlie was lounging against a tree, his eyes fixed on the slight figure that was perched in the grass, listening to something that she was saying. His father shrugged.

"There were there when I came into the kitchen the morning."

"They've been out there all day?"

"I guess. It's an interesting way to spend a Saturday, but, to each their own." Alan shrugged again, feigning ignorance of the situation. Don shook his head and turned to Terry, at the same time loosening his tie and discarding the formality over a nearby chair.

"What do you think?" The woman smiled serenely in the failing light that came from the yard, her eyes lighting up.

"She's communicating with Charlie because she relates with him, I would guess. It's common for someone who has been through a traumatic experience. Someone like that looks for another that will sort of- direct her, give her focus. She saw something in Charlie that was familiar, and so she's clinging to him." Terry put her hand on Don's arm as he frowned and put a hand on the sliding door, preparing to descend into the yard.

"It's healthy, at least unless she starts to depend on him completely. He sought her out in the first place, didn't he?"

"I guess so," Don affirmed reluctantly. "I just don't like the idea of anyone depending on Charlie. He's not a bad guy, but the first time that a number catches his eye, everything else is gone. I would hate for him to discard her, and have Lily take it the wrong way." He took his hand away from the door and sank down into the vacant chair that his tie was draped over. Letting his body sag down, he closed his eyes momentarily. Tomorrow was Sunday. He would be able to sleep in, at least a little, have a good meal, and recharge enough to keep him afloat for a little while longer.

Alan motioned for Terry to take another chair near Don's, and moved back into the kitchen, bustling around to make dinner. After a moment, the FBI agent opened his eyes and peered at his partner, enjoying the way that the light from the window haloed her gentle features and played across the fabric of her chair in orange-gold links of liquid sunset.

"Can we talk to her tonight?" he asked, feigning carelessness. Terry turned her head, gazing at the subject of their thoughts with concern. The effects of the sunlight on the lawn, along with the volume of greenery lent the young woman a dark innocence.

"I don't want t-"

"Is it possible?" Don interrupted her, his voice clipped and firm. She nodded slowly.

"Then we will, before dinner." he concluded, his voice offering no yield to argument.

"Let me speak to her first, before you start grilling her." Terry replied, her tone as icy as his own. "I want to make sure that she's stable enough to take it before you make her relive her nightmares."

"Fine." Don sighed as he watched Charlie stand up and meet his gaze. There was something in his younger brother's expression that chilled him to the bone, even in the warm evening. _That look_.

124710878237182730817203871082373282873982

"We should go inside now. It's getting late." Charlie stood up slowly, shaking out his limps to get his blood to run through them again. He had a high tolerance for many moments of stillness, thanks to years of spending hours in front of some computer or a blackboard, but it didn't make the end result of stiffness any less painful. Looking up, the young man saw his older brother peering out at him from one of the comfortable chairs positioned around the large viewing space. He met the gaze full on, not bothering to hide anything in his own expression.

Lily unfolded herself and stood up, allowing any watcher to notice her poise and see the dancer within her. The two of them slowly made their way towards the door, Charlie leading, and the young woman a few steps behind him. Silence reigned again, but it was a comfortable stillness, not because there was nothing to say, but because both the conversers were wrapped up in thoughts of their own.

As soon as they had reached the house, Don stood up again, ignoring a warning look from Terry, who had positioned herself closer to the door.

"Lily, we need to talk to you." The FBI agent was able to keep his tone even, with nothing accusatory or rough flavoring it.

"I know it's early, but it's important that we get as much information as we can, as soon as possible." The female agent's voice was soft, not maternal, but rather as though she was addressing a friend of hers. Lily turned towards the woman and lifted her head slightly, studying the pattern of crimson thread that had been worked into the chair she occupied, the whirling colors blending into a ginger-gold background. Biting her lip, she nodded.

"Can we eat first?" Alan, brandishing a wooden spoon in one hand appeared from behind them, his face showing concern. "Neither of these two have had anything all day." Charlie looked at Don and shot him a cautionary look, but the agent was determined to get some fodder for his mind to digest before he let himself rest.

"A few questions." He concluded, noting the awkwardness of the five of them standing around. Gesturing to the chair that he had been occupying, he lightly pushed the young woman toward it, taking action before anyone could protest. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Charlie exchange irritated looks with his father, and Terry roll her eyes. They knew he was in one of his _don't mess with me_ moods, and that there would be little room for any compromising. Resigning themselves to the situation, the other two men took seats at the kitchen counter, bowing their heads in a quiet conversation.

Terry moved over towards Don and stared down at their quarry. She was still pale, her entire frame looking worn and fragile. Her hair was tangled from the day spent outside, and her clothes rumbled from the outdoor, but the young woman's eyes were full of ideas and sparkle, if a little deadened. She couldn't be called beautiful, but the aura of a dancer's bearing and her intelligent face might have allowed her to pass as pretty.

"Lily," Terry spoke her name adroitly, almost as though she was trying to use her voice to reflect the delicate namesake, "We're going to carry this out as though we would with any witness. We need you to just answer each question as best you can. Anything you know that _might_ be helpful, we must also know. And if you want, you can ask questions also. I'm Terry, and this oaf is Don as you know." She let a smile fall into her tone, hoping to put the younger girl at ease. Something that might have been the distant kin of a smile played on Lily's lips.

"Just do your best. We know that this is hard." Lily nodded again. She didn't look particularly threatened or nervous, just blankly aware of the presence of the two FBI agents. At the counter behind them, Charlie and Alan had ended their discussion and were listening intently.

"Please tell us your full name and age." Don said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a half-full notebook. His voice fell into the monotone of a normal questioning session.

"Lily Aaralyn Rissaya. I'm, I'm eighteen, nineteen in May." Don started slightly, realizing that he hadn't ever heard her voice before. It was light and melodic, though well saturated with grief at the moment.

"And your relationship with Nina Rissaya?"

"Don!" Charlie left his perch at the counter and moved over towards his brother, eyes flashing. "You know this, why are you making her-"

"It's standard procedure. Stay out of this." The words were crisp and curt. The younger man was about to open his mouth to protest, but a pleading look from Terry stopped him. Sulkily, the mathematician took the seat that the female FBI agent had vacated and sank down, eyes fixed in Lily.

"That's my mother." All three of them turned their attention back to the teenager who had answered the question. At first glance, she was relaxed, but her hands dug into the arms of the chair viciously.

"Can you recount to me what happened this past Thursday? Everything from when you woke up until the end of the night. Any detail, any memory that you can discern."

"I woke up, probably five-thirty. I took a shower, got ready for school. My mom…my mom dropped me on the way to work, like she always does."

"Where did your mom work?" Don's pen was stationary on the page.

"CalSci. She was chemistry professor." Her voice betrayed nothing.

"So you went to school. Did you notice anything out of the ordinary relating to your mom?"

"No. She was fine. She dropped me off, umm, probably around seven-fifteen, and then went to work. I went to school."

"Was everything normal in school?"

"Yeah," an undertone of bitterness stole into her voice, and Don looked up, a frown plastered across his expression.

"What was wrong with school?"

"It doesn't have anything to do with-" Lily looked up, eyes skeptical.

"At this point, we're willing to take anything at all. Small things can often be significant." Terry's perpetual patience was a blessing to the group. Every time she spoke, she managed to smooth out the tension that was rising in the room.

"I just don't like school. It's not a-"

"Why not? Is it hard for you?"

"Hardly," a touch of arrogance replaced the bitter undertones. "It's easy. Ridiculously easy. Boring."

"What classes were you taking?"

"On Thursday? AP bio, AP chem., BC calc, humanities, AP modern European, and uh, health. In that order."

"So you had all your classes, then what?"

"I came home, on the bus. My mom was already there. She gets home early on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I started my homework, she was doing something for her research."

"What kind of research?"

"She was working on anti-matter." The strain of speaking was obviously taking a toll on the young woman. Her voice had begun to shake, but she continued to take deep breathes and speak rapidly, as though drawing poison from a wound. "It's this concept that's pretty well known. A lot of scientists think that the opposite of known matter exists, because there had to be something outside of the space-time fabric, in black holes and stuff. My mom thought, she thought that," the interest in her voice was obvious, but it was surrounded by a deep regret, a sort of despising love that reminded Don greatly of Charlie talking out his unsolvable math problems.

"it could be created by slamming uranium atoms together with neutrons to create a controlled nuclear reaction, and then taking away all the electrons in the system, or something like that. The idea was that the huge positive charge of the remaining pieces, in the light of a nuclear reaction, would act in a way that would allow her to, I guess, turn them inside out. She wasn't finished with the idea."

"How far along was she?"

"I don't know. She was doing most of it on a strictly theoretical level."

"It sounds like she shared a lot of her work with you."

"I like chemistry." Lily sounded vaguely defensive, as though she was used to being ridiculed for her interest.

"Ok, so you did your homework, then what." Don cut off the conversation about chemical research, feeling a dead-end coming on.

"I had an appointment with a therapist." Terry raised her eyebrows.

"What for?"

"Mom thought something was wrong with me. Because I was losing interest in a lot of things that I used to like to do. And I really didn't like school."

"Sounds like depression to me." Terry said immediately. Lily shrugged.

"I wasn't _depressed_ though, I was just… indifferent."

"There's different degrees of depression." Terry replied, looking at the girl thoughtfully. Don cut in again, impatient to forward the conversation, wanting to know what happened shortly thereafter. He was a hunter on the loose, eager for the chase, and the quarry.

"So you had the appointment, then what?"

"We finished, we were going to drive home. I asked mom if I could run home, because we were only three or so miles away. She agreed. I ran home- it took me about twenty or twenty-five minutes." The vague shiver in her voice was now a full fledged quake, the tension in the arriving moments building up to a level of impossible passion. Still, there was no emotion, no hint of what the girl's thoughts were, save that they were afflicting her somehow.

"Her car was in the driveway. I walked in the front door-" She cut off and abruptly closed her mouth, unable to go on.

"Come on Lily, we need this. This is very important." Don kept his voice soft, but firm. From across the room, Charlie stood up and strode over to the three that were crowded around the girl. Looking reproachfully at his brother, he pushed passed the three of them towards the stairs.

"She was on the floor in the kitchen, against one of the…one of the cabinet doors. I couldn't really…I couldn't….I….there was blood, so much blood." The girl's eyes slipped closed as she struggled for breath, her entire body shaking now. "That's all. There's nothing clear after that." She looked up pleadingly at the two agents who were standing over her, begging them to end their inquisition.

"You didn't see anyone else in the house? Anything?" Lily swallowed and shook her head at Don's question. He nodded and scribbled in his open notebook.

"I think that that is enough!" Alan came back from the haven of his kitchen, eyes focused on young woman who was fighting a breakdown with all her might, and losing that battle. He recognized the signs- the struggle to breath, to move, to focus. He had seen them in his youngest son all too often. He let his tone rise as he stared expectantly at Don. "I think it's time that we ate." With a sigh, his son nodded and folded his notebook slowly, peering down at Lily. He was about to turn around when the surprising sound of her voice stopped him.

"Wait."

"What?" she sounded drained and lost, her tone wandering the borders of being incomprehensible.

"I…I have a few questions." Charlie stopped in his tracks and turned around, his eyes a question.

"I'm…I'm not stupid. The FBI doesn't investigate every murder victim in the state. Why…why are you involved?" Her eyes took on an intensity that Don recognized, and he felt his respect for the girl rise a little.

"Lily, were you aware that your mother was an agent for the CIA?" There was no easy way to say it- Don assumed it was best to do it quickly and painfully, rather then to talk in circles. Lily's eyes went wide. "She was working an undercover case, and…"

"No!" the girl shook her head powerfully, eyes panicking. "You must have something wrong. My mother was a chemist. She-"

"Nina Rissaya was a special agent for the CIA. She was working undercover as a chemist. We don't know why." Don turned away in frustration, missing the sudden conflicting emotions that played across the teen's face. The fight between her aging grief, and the sudden betrayal and anger of the situation was raging, and what was more, the desire to believe that she was being lied to, while at the same time, the rationality of the moment told her that it was the truth that had been spoken. She wanted to hate the only person in the world for whom she had feelings, and she couldn't, because she was morning that person's death. There would never be reconciliation, because that single person was gone. _Gone_… _Oh God_…_I don't_…

Terry glared at Don, angered by the merciless way that he had dished out information to the young girl, well aware of the frenzy within her. Give a choice, she might have waited to inform the teenager of her mother's circumstances, but Don was a man of the raw truth, and she knew that the likelihood of him withholding information from a question was something he would not do if he trusted the listener. Or rather, if he felt whoever asked deserved to know.

"When can I go…back to everything? School…" Terry turned her focus back to the subject of her thoughts, unsurprised to see that the young woman had shut-down completely. Nothing would penetrate the emotional barriers that had been put up- her eyes and face were artificially blank, refusing to give insight into the war within. The icy question was defense against the betrayal of her true thoughts.

"Well, we thought that you'd want to…have a while to recover." Terry said gently. "Legally, you're an adult, so we have no custody over you."

"So I can just go home?" Her mask was terrible. The pain that had been suppressed so suddenly had done to the room what taking all the pressure out of it might have- turned the environment into something unnatural and uncomfortable.

"Well, technically. We have reason to believe that you are somehow in danger, so there might be some provisions." Terry looked pained to be saying what she was, knowing where the conversation was leading, but she couldn't lie to the girl. That would be worse, especially with someone of her intelligence.

"So I can leave, right now?" She didn't seem fazed at the idea of having her life in danger. Of course, the FBI agent knew that this was hardly the case, and that the young woman had just started herself on a spiraling path that would lead to her own mental destruction. She was a time-bomb, thrown off balance, and ticking into oblivion. And no one knew when she would go off. Schooling her face to remove the intense pity that she felt, Terry forced frost back into her voice.

"Not right now. We still might need information, so it's best that we have easy access to you, so we'll have you stay here for a while. But eventually, you can do whatever you want." Lily nodded, and stood, facing the now dark exterior of the house.

"And of course, you're welcome here as long as you want to stay." Alan mustered all the warmth he could from the frigid room and thrust it at Lily, feeling the icy shell that she had wrapped herself in."

"Yeah of course. You need to show me your guarding color thing anyway," Charlie chimed in, his voice as unsteady as any other in the room. He took a step towards her, but she rebuffed him. Without word or gesture, she took several steps towards the sliding door, then opened it and walked out, disappearing into the dusk. Immediately, the mathematician started after her, but Terry reached out and grabbed him.

"She needs to fight with herself for awhile." She turned towards Don, who stood still, looking stunned.

"You however, have me to deal with."

129380128309128038129083019820381298301283908

"This is amazing." Charlie had spread out the contents of the large brown box on the table, and was examining it with a keen eye. "But not enough."

"What do you mean?" Don eyed the pile of equations and data tables with interest, wondering what it could be that would impress Charlie. The younger man was studying a set of equations that seemed to involve several chemical symbols.

"You know what Lily said about her mother's work? About slamming uranium atoms into each other, and…how did she put it?" The mathematician looked up at her brother, who had automatically stiffened from mention of the girl's name. Terry had thankfully had the grace to pull her partner into a separate room before she let loose her temper, but several choice phrases had escaped the confines of the chamber, namely, "You just took whatever stability that poor girl had, and blasted it into shreds." And, "If she kills herself, the blood's not on anyone's hands but your own."

"Yeah, yeah, about turning the remaining atoms inside out," Don mumbled, trying to block out the cutting words that were still ringing in his head.

"She was extremely close to just that, according to these calculations. She had the exact required speed of collision, and the magnetism needed to pull away her electrons. Of course, there isn't a magnet that strong, but she intended to have a parallel reaction going on in the accelerator, to create the magnetic field. It's…" the young man shook his head. "Amazing. This woman was essentially going to create a nuclear reaction in a particle accelerator, and then create like….a baby-black hole, I guess, and just turn the whole thing inside out. It looks, almost, possible."

"If she didn't blow herself up first." Terry responded from across the room. She focused her gaze on Charlie, refusing to acknowledge Don's presence. Her concern for the girl was draped heavily over her shoulders. She shouldn't have let Don talk to her, and she had known it, but her disparity of getting some sort of lead on this case had blinded her better judgment. What was worse, she couldn't do anything about it. Lily didn't trust her or anyone else, so she wouldn't let anyone beyond her mental shields. She could self-destruct, and none of them would know it until she took it into her head to slit her throat, and the only preventative measure the woman could take would be to tie the young woman up and tuck her away somewhere. But to do that would be to deny her any semblance of a life, and it would be messy. She was helpless, and if there was one feeling in the world she hated, it was that.

"I doubt she would. Everything here is so perfectly planned." Charlie's excitement penetrated her morose thoughts. "She had position down to one billionth of a nanometer, and speed, to," there was a pause as the man went into calculation mode. "The same measurement, per nanosecond. It's…" he shook his head as he studied the sheet. "She made all her measurements with the assumption that there would be a vacuum in the accelerator so that she could suspend the result, and make sure it didn't touch anything."

"And what would someone do with anti-matter?" Terry wondered allowed. "Besides stare at it and feel proud of themselves?"

"I…don't know, really, I'm not a chemist, but from what I've read, it's like black magic. According to the theoretic properties of the stuff, you need, maybe a couple particles, and you could take out most of the United States, maybe more."

"So we're dealing with a giant bomb?" Don asked. Charlie shook his head.

"It's hard to explain, but, not really. That's just the FBI approach to it. I mean, in space, it's what a lot of people think causes anomalies in galaxy distribution. You can't see it, because it doesn't absorb or emit light waves. And there's a bunch of different kinds. Hot, cold, non-baryonic, which is sort of a buffer, if you will, that makes stars and other large clusters act the way they do. Then there's baryonic, which is what Dr. Rissaya was working on. This stuff is what is supposed to make up most of the mass of the universe. I suggest you ask Larry about it, he would know more. I just use it when I'm helping him calculate interstellar velocities…." He turned back to the sheet, and Don looked helplessly over at Terry, who ignored him. After several moments of silence, Charlie continued, rummaging through papers as he spoke.

"I don't know why exactly she would want to create this, because it seems awfully risky to actually carry-out. But it has something to do with controlling it. There's a bunch of different suspension chamber designs here- I recognize them from Larry's work- as though she thought it could be used like an eraser. Only, for matter."

"So she could wave it around, and it would just destroy whatever it touched?" Don's eyes went wide with worry.

"Yes, and no. It would be a risky operation, because controlling what actually got touched would be…difficult to say the least. Say she wanted to get rid of a piece of paper. It would also destroy all the air around the paper, and then perhaps, every other object in the room, through diffusion, like if you were to spill coffee and it leaked across a table, staining everything, not just what it initially came in contact with. Or if that didn't happen, because there are different gases in our atmosphere, she might create a severe imbalance that would allow objects to spontaneously combust."

"Beautiful." Don muttered.

"But think of the possibilities." Charlie put down the papers that he was clutching and started up at his brother. "You wave it over a cancerous tumor, and boom, it's gone. Nothing left, no more spreading, no more illness." His eyes filled with a dark determination and he continued to work, falling back into his numbers, unaware of anyone else in the room. The two FBI agents stewed in their thoughts, concerns and worries running awry.

"There's something missing, a hole."

"What?" It had only been a few minutes, and Don was surprised to see his brother "emerge for air" from his mathematical reveries.

"The first reaction that needed to be started, with the uranium atoms, is missing. There's no calculation or mention of it. It's quintessential to the rest of the experiment. And there's nothing here that mentions it."

"Could she not have gotten to that part yet?" Terry wondered.

"No, because all the other math relies on it. It's definitely missing." Charlie's face was worried. "She refers to it several times. Some of the papers just aren't here."

"Are you sure?" Terry stood up.

"I'm positive. All of the math requires back-up support, and it's not here. No self-respecting scientist would go through all the trouble of this other stuff if they didn't have the foundation mathematical rational."

"I knew it!" the woman walked over and surveyed the mess of papers on the table. "I'm going to the school right now to check this out. Someone searched the office before we did." The words were probably meant for Don, but she shot them at Charlie.

"Do you want me to come with you?" the mathematician offered. "I know the campus, so I could-"

"No." Terry's refusal came out sharper then she had meant it to. "Thank you."

"I'm going with you." Don rushed towards the door before Terry could refuse his help. She didn't make any attempt. Without another word, the two of them had slammed the door behind them, leaving Charlie staring in their wake.

3590802381902891823123

"Lily? Lily?" The mathematician stumbled around the dark lawn, vaguely commenting to himself that he was spending an ungodly amount of time navigating the place in recent days. In one hand was clutched a plate with a peanut-butter sandwich on in, the other was flailing out in front of him, trying to keep himself from running into-

"Omph!" the young man crashed directly into something semi-solid and fell backward with as yell, as the object he had made contact with did the same. Mathematician, mystery thing, and peanut butter sandwich all went crashing to the ground, hopelessly tangled (the sandwich somehow managed to remain on the plate, but both food item and ceramic dish landed two or three feet out of the young man's grasp.)

"Lily?" Charlie peered into the darkness, trying to confirm his suspicion that he had inadvertently discovered his quarry. The terrified girl sat up quickly, eyes wild, until she saw who had run into her. Chest heaving, she pulled herself into a sitting position and stared at her seeker.

"I thought…I thought you might be hungry." Charlie indicated the fallen plate, not without irony as he dwelled on the many times that his brother or father had searched him out with food that he had forgotten to eat.

"I don't want pity." Her words were soft-spoken, not angry, not even really there. They were vague; an afterthought.

"It's not. It's peanut-butter." The genuinely confused look on the young man's face disarmed the distraught young woman.

"oh.' Lily stood up and turned away from her newfound companion, her thoughts troubled.

"Are you going to eat? You should. You haven't in…awhile." Charlie felt his cheeks color as he followed her example and rose. He couldn't believe the position that he had been thrust into. He didn't mind it- but it was so…different. The comforter instead of comforted, the nurturer instead of the lost. Lily didn't respond. Her eyes were focused to some corner of the sky, and yet not really seeing it at all.

Charlie picked up the plate, hoping against hope that it hadn't cracked, and found himself in luck. He figured that the flexibility of the grass was enough to increase the cushioning effect on the ceramic utensil so that it didn't crack.

"Then I'll have half," gingerly, the young man picked up a slice of the sandwich and then held it out in the darkness towards the young woman. "And you have half." Lily was so nonplussed by his behavior that she reached out and obliged him, taking the wheat-bread in her hand. She didn't move to eat it, but rather held it out, her figure still, waiting. Charlie forced himself to take a large bite of the sandwich and chew, indicating that she should do the same. Slowly, she lifted the food to her mouth, but still did not take a bite.

Having swallowed his sandwich piece, Charlie looked down at his feet and then back up at the stationary outline before him. Her shadow seemed to be a more accurate depiction of her soul, the absolute blackness that blocked stars from his view, taking in all the light around her and leaving the area that she covered in a silhouette that reminded Charlie of days without sleep and tears that he couldn't bring himself to shed.

"You know," he said finally, staring off, not quite seeing her. "I…I lost my mother when I was younger. Not quite, in your circumstances, I mean, she was murdered I guess…but not by a person, and I wasn't a girl, and…" he realized that he was babbling and schooled himself. "If you want to talk, about it, I mean, I guess I can relate, kind of. I mean…" He trailed off, and then looked again at his shoes, feeling absurd with a plate in one hand, his eyes not quite sure where to put themselves.

She shrugged and turned away.

_Nothing is real_.

"You can't shut down on me now! Come on!" Charlie took a step forward, not even really aware of what he was saying. Seldom did he find himself with such strength of emotion that he was willing to protest a near stranger's actions, but he knew this too well- he knew where it was going. She was going push everything out, pull herself in, implode upon herself. And she didn't have anything to keep her sane while someone else picked up the pieces. Lord knew, she didn't have anyone else.

"Just, just leave me alone. Please. I don't want…" Again, it was as though she was functioning elsewhere, not really seeing him, not really even aware of her own presence.

"You don't want what? You don't want someone to take you in their arms and tell you that it's alright? You don't want to wake up tomorrow morning and find that it's a new day and that the world hasn't stopped turning just because you've fallen out of rotation? It's just so much easier, isn't it, to let everything just _fall away_. Isn't it?" Lily whirled around, provoked at the words against her will.

Shaking her head in disgust, she collected her reflexes and moved to turn around again, but the mathematician was too caught up in his own emotions to hold himself back. He grabbed her arm and forced her around so that she had to face him. She struggled, but the man's arms had been strengthened by years of scribbling on chalkboards.

She continued to try to pull away, unwilling to speak.

"Look me in the eye and tell me that you're not taking the easy way out. Tell me that at the age of eighteen, you've decided that life isn't worth it!" They were both breathing heavily now, eyes wide in the darkness. Lily went limp, realizing that her struggles were useless. She turned her face away, refusing to look at the young man. Using his other hand, Charlie gripped her chin firmly, but gently, and turned it towards him. Again, the irony of the position, so similar to that of his brother and himself only a few weeks prior when he had tried to give up on the FBI's bank-robbing case, after having been faced with the reality of the situation, was not lost on him. _We're more similar then we think_.

"Say it!" he demanded.

She was silent.

"Because I've done what you're doing and it…it's not going to work. The real world is going to catch up with you sometime or another, and there's nothing you- or anyone- can do to stop it. Talk to me, just talk, say…say anything, sing, I don't care. But just keep talking, focus on me, don't close it off." He forced himself to meet her gaze, his eyes urgent with the need to keep her attention. "Tell me about….um, the dark-matter experiment, or your dancing, tell me about that. Come on, we'll go get something to eat, and you can tell me about the dark-matter. I couldn't find some of the math…maybe you could clear it up." His tone full of desperate resolve, he began to coax her back into the house. Taking a step back, he grabbed her wrist and tugged gently. She followed, taking one step, then another, slowly descending on the house.

When they managed this maneuver to the door, the mathematician awkwardly let go of the young woman and then slung her arm uncertainly around her shoulders in a gesture of shelter.

"So the uranium reaction. Was the point to slam multiple particles into each other, or use the neutrons like most nuclear reactions are staged? I mean, it wasn't quite apparent because there were several different isotopes notated in the equation."

"The point was to try to get as much lose nuclear material as possible, so," her eyes focused on the dark-curls of her redemption as she lost herself in the science. It was clean, methodical. And for once, there wasn't a cruel world antagonizing her- numbers weren't cruel- there were cold, but crisp. For once, she dared perhaps, to let hope touch her senses. Not enter them, or influence. But touch them, to prove that it was real.


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Snowing on the Beach

Author: Lady-Daine

Rating: PG/K+ (May go up later for language/violence)

Author's Note: Special Thanks to Alamo Girl and Belligerent-road-pylon for their lovely comments. I love you guys!

Shamelessly, I again bequest any and all readers to drop me a quick review, and, as always, critique and suggestions are much sought out. This chapter introduces a new character, and as usual, features much of our favorite socially-catatonic mathematician. Forgive me for the late update. I fear that long jogging excursions and passing classes has taken up some of my precious time.

A belated happy Easter/Passover/spring to everyone!

So, without further ado, your chapter awaits.

Disclaimer: I have no affiliation with the T.V. show numb3rs, nor do I own any characters, concepts, or anything else relating to the show. I'm simply borrowing some of them because I was too lazy to make up my own. Don't sue me- I'm a Red Sox Fan and a liberal!

**Snowing on the Beach**

**Chapter 5**

Charlie closed his eyes and let his breath out slowly, practicing the exercises that Alan had once taught him to keep his panic attacks away. It was completely dark now, save for the candle that he had lit on his desk for lack of a better lighting source. It wavered and shook its eminence over the various documents that were spread across the wooden surface, forcing the two scrawls that covered them to dance uncertainly. He stared at them without seeing, his mind on fire with thoughts and feelings, his dark eyes clouded with dreams and numbers together.

Across the room, Lily was sprawled out next to his bed, her breath even as she slept, for once, undisturbed by the dreams that had haunted her. She was too spent- there was nothing left even to witness nightmares. Her russet hair framed her pale face, which no longer showed the horrifying lines of grief that it had before. The clothes that she had sported were clean but rumpled, a pair of faded blue jeans, the bottoms shredded, and a nondescript gray tee-shirt that said "MIT" on it. As he studied her in the candlelight, the young man decided it was better to see things through fire then anything else. It was softer, gentler, than electricity. It was not that he was really the romantic type- the candle was the residue from an experiment based on spontaneous combustion of various elements and their relation to density- but the atmosphere hadn't been lost on the young man.

Turning back to the equations on the page, Charlie ran through them again, trying to find some detail that they might have missed when they went through the series of procedures that would justify the missing mathematical calculations, but there was nothing. Lily had known quite a bit, but much of it had been over her head. Now, it was only manipulation of what she had been able to give him that might allow him to fill in the gaps. And even that he wasn't sure of- he was _not_ a chemist.

"Is she sleeping?" Alan peered in from the cracked door, his eyes searching those of his son. He nodded, and the older man opened the door the rest of the way, letting himself in. He glanced down at the sleeping woman- no, child really- and grabbed Charlie's comforter, draping it lightly over her.

"You should have been a gentleman and offered her your bed," he said reproachfully.

"I did- she refused. She said that it was bad form to take your host's bed." Charlie turned around and stared at his father, grateful to be in the company of someone who was an authority over him. Being a leader, he found, even in a figurative sense, was very uncomfortable. Alan smiled slightly and moved towards his son, taking the vacated seat that Lily had left when she became too tired to stare at the equations that were swimming on the page.

"Is she talking to you?" The question was layered, and Charlie did not lose the sophistication of it. He shook his head.

"Mostly only math, now and then something different. She's not a talker, at least, now."

"Is she….is she like you?" Again, Charlie shook his head.

"I don't think so. She's bright and she has a great drive for academic aptitude, but she's…in terms of IQ, no more then that. Gifted, probably, prodigy, no. Alan nodded serenely, and studied his younger son, eyes intent. "I think, I think she needs a…channel for her energy. I mean, like something that makes her…" He didn't know how to describe what he wanted to communicate. Her version of P vs. NP, or-

"You said something about her dancing. Maybe she has a coach or teacher or something… or maybe she just needs a CD player. I'll look into it." Charlie looked up and nodded at his father gratefully, happy to have him understand his intentions without having to articulate them. Alan smiled and held out a hand to his younger son's shoulder.

"You need to get some sleep."

"You say that every time you see me."

"It's always true." Charlie nodded, looking back over the work, his scrawl on the page mixed with her grade-school like handwriting. There was nothing there that was going to help him, and he knew it. He just didn't want to believe it. Giving up- it was the worst thing he could imagine- but even as his eyes scanned the pages, they blurred in front of him, and he knew that what his father said was true. He could work on it in the morning if he had time. There were still midterms to grade and lessons to plan, but he could probably fit it in. _Not giving up, just saving for later_, he told himself.

The young man stood up and moved towards his bed. As gently as he could, he reached down and picked up the sleeping girl, supporting her head on one shoulder, her legs draped over his arm. She murmured quietly as he tugged off his comforter and made towards the door, which Alan opened to its fullest extent for him. He quickly moved towards the end of the hallway where "her" room was, noticing how light his burden was- too light. His father moved on in front of him and pulled down the covers so that he could lay the sleeping girl in her bed. Replacing the blankets, Charlie stared down at her for a moment, lost in his memories and feeling her pain. Then he turned around abruptly and moved towards his own room, saying a sleepy goodnight to his dad who pealed off into his bedroom on the way back. Somehow, he didn't really feel like talking to the older man for the moment.

Without undressing, Charlie slipped into his bed and threw the comforter over himself, staring at the dark ceiling above him. The candle still burned on his desk, casting shapely shadows around the room, reminding him of archaic tales with faerie rings, lit by fire. In his solitude, he found the candle-light almost festive, but it didn't drown away the tangle of emotions that had become a constant burden for him. The past hours had been surreal, like a nightmare, only not so much that, because he found himself not wanting to leave it. Something in him wanted closure, something else, before the "dream" ended. He blinked a few times, wondering how he would find his way out of the situation, but it wouldn't come to him. Sleep however, did.

3981237981723917298371827392138798378912732

"Believe it or not, we will probably be more effective if you talk to me here." Don's voice echoed through the empty corridor of the chemistry corridor. Terry said nothing, her eyes focused straight ahead of her as she strode down the hallway, occasionally turning her head to look at the etched nameplates on various doors.

"What exactly are you hoping to find here anyway? There's aren't any people around at this hour!" The FBI agent was at wits end with his partner. She was letting personal problems get in the way of her work- or at least, that's what he told himself. Truly, he simply couldn't see what she wanted him to do to redeem himself, and this, most of all annoyed him. Problems, he could deal with. Problems with no apparent solution that he was helpless to face drove him absolutely insane.

To his indignation, she didn't answer, but simply pressed on until finally, she stopped in front of a door and pulled a key out of her pocket.

Making quick work of it, Terry easily made her way into the dark office. Within moments, she flipped on a few lights on the wall next to the door. It was similar in many ways to Charlie's office, minus the books and papers scattered everywhere in an order that only the mathematician, and somehow, Amita, were able to navigate through. With his eyes still adjusting to the darkness, Don could easily imagine a similar scene in the alien environment. He snapped on a flashlight and peered around. A print of Monet's water lilies was slightly crooked on the wall, next to a very detailed poster of the periodic table. Bookshelves, their contents having been pillaged, lined the outer walls, with a small gap between them for a dark window that would have looked out onto the campus. Turning his attention to the center of the room, Don again tried to envision it before it had been raided by the FBI, and…someone else perhaps

. The desk was bare now, no more then a wooden contraption, and a chair and with smudge of the fine dust that was used to make finger prints-

"We didn't take finger prints!" Don exclaimed excitedly, striding over to the desk that held the dust and squinting down doubtfully."

"I was right." Terry said, almost to herself. Preoccupied with her discovery, she turned to Don and stared at him with worry glinting in her eyes.

"Than who did? And why?"

7347102739817398729371972398172983719827389727139872

She woke up around noon, perhaps a bit later, for the first time feeling more rested than she had when she had first gone to sleep. Lily was in "her" room, and sunlight poured in from the window in to corner, playing across the rumpled comforter that she was under. Taking stock of herself, she shook her limbs slowly, not yet ready to face the emotional inventory that was clouding her mind. _I've got to do something today, or I'm going to get so out of shape. Julie is going to-_ Now she stopped. What was Julie going to do? She hadn't shown up for practice on Friday, or Saturday, and, based on the amount of sun streaming in her face, she was hours late for practice today- _I think it's Sunday._ Without a call, the woman must have noticed that something was wrong. Lily found it hard to care. _It doesn't matter, I'm not going to be dancing anymore anyway_…

"Bad form, very bad form, sleeping in on a practice day, and what with the regional qualifiers not a few weeks away!" The familiar words, tinted slightly with the warmth and dusty rasp of a middle-eastern accent was enough to penetrate even the toughest mental scars that had enwrapped her recently. Lily look up towards her door. Sure enough, the chocolate-skinned guard coach was leaning on the doorway, looking down at her with something that looked like an amused grin on her face.

"God, Julie. What in the world…how did you get here?" Lily couldn't escape the groan that emancipated from her as she saw the woman's mind working behind hazel eyes. If she had her way, the "Viper" as her team fondly called her, would have the young woman doing rifle tosses all over the place with minutes.

"Usually, if a girl misses three practices, we don't let her represent us in the solo competition." The woman strode farther into the room as Lily shook her head, sure that she was still dreaming. She tugged at her blanket, trying to pull it back over her.

"I'm sorry. My mom sort of ended up being an undercover CIA agent and got her cover blown and sort of got shot three times in the head. Forgive me for missing your precious practices." The words burst out of her mouth before she could help herself, the bitterness flowing through her and stinging like poison. It hurt so much to reject her love, and yet the idea of dancing…the idea of living seemed so much like an impossible dream.

Julie looked unimpressed.

"That's the oldest excuse in the book. Outside, now. There's a rifle in my car." Lily squinted, the disorientation of the whole situation settling over her. Her grief got the most of her, and she glanced resentfully at the other woman.

"No."

"No?"

"No, I'm not doing your stupid guard anymore. My life comes before your competition." She didn't really want to say what she was. There was nothing she wanted more than to take a few hours of abuse from the guard coach, but she _couldn't_. It wouldn't be right, it wouldn't be…"

"Rissaya, guard is your life. And the time that's most important to be doing it is when you least want to. You get outside there right now. I left practices with Mark, so you had better not waste my time. You have a regional solo tryout in three weeks, and you're still in bed. Get the hell out there!" There was no sympathy in her brown eyes, no compassion. There never was. But now, Lily resented it more then ever- why shouldn't she have compassion? She had just lost her…

"I'm waiting."

"Go to hell." She had never talked back to the older woman before, never said a word against her. Now, Julie pursed her lips and looked bored.

"Probably will. I'm not wasting my time. I'm out of here." She turned around and headed back out the door without so much as anther comment. Lily crouched on the bed for several moments, still trying to decide if what she had just encountered was real and hating herself for the missed opportunity. It took her mere moments.

"Wait, Julie, look, I'm sorry, I-" The girl chased her instructor out of the room. She caught her just as the woman had started down the stairs. "Julie!"

"I'm going to be flexible this time, because I'm feeling generous today." The Arabian let the smile fall from her features. "And I'm sorry about your mother Rissaya, but life goes on. You go on….and guard's going to ensure that." Lily swallowed a lump in her throat. She couldn't just drop away from her miserable being….but she had to. This time, she had to, if there was another chance, this was it. Besides, Charlie had said that he wanted to see her dancing.

"But if you slack I'm going to change my mind and kick you off the team, girl. Get moving!" Another glance from the coach sent Lily scampering down the stairs and out the door. She barely noticed the two men staring after her, and the looks that they exchanged with the older woman.

Ten minutes later she was listening to Julie counting off numbers, tossing her weapon directly on cue on the back lawn, doing various spins and lunges between each throw. In between, she shot as many nasty glances as she could at the two men across the yard, who were lounging in chairs and making "helpful" comments.

Charlie had taken his lap-top outside, and was happily watching the scathing remarks made each time her toss was a half-turn off, or her posture slipped. Occasionally he'd add in his own observation about the varying velocities of seemingly perfectly united endeavors, earning himself a death-wish from one of the women, and a smile of approval from the other.

Alan was nearby, looking like a cat that had gotten into the cream with the result of the phone calls he had made that morning. Coffee in hand, he pretended to read a magazine as he watched the two women work.

"Come on Rissaya, three days shouldn't make you this sloppy. Sharpen up. I want a sequence now with proportional step turns. Start with ones, then move up." Lily spun the wooden block between her two hands, tossing it higher, higher, feeling the danger of solid wood whirling around her, and yet no more dangerous to her then any of part of herself, for it was only that- an extension of herself that was never quite solid, never quite stayed in her hands. She tossed it up lightly and raised her hands for the step turn, not seeing the emerald and cerulean blue around her as she made the move and brought her slender arms back in, ready for the perfect catch. Nothing mattered anymore. She had the world, she had the rhythm of the step in her heart and soul, dictating every move, every breath, every thought…

"Is it just me, or is Lily dancing with a giant hunk of wood?" Don stepped out onto the porch, his hair sticking up on all ends from a shower, and a cup of coffee in his hands. He hadn't returned from his late-night exerusions until after day-break, and had caught up on some much needed rest.

"It's a rifle." Charlie said absent mindedly, tearing his eyes away from the pair in front of him momentarily to gaze at his computer screen. "Colorguard, traditionally military, but now more of a dance-form. It's really great, there's a perfect ratio of weight on the various ends so that…"

"Who is the other lady?" Don asked, ignoring his brother's subsequent lecture about weight ratios and velocity with a well-trained deaf ear. For once, his mind felt somewhat clear, and the sunlight less threatening than it had in past days. While deeply disturbed from the previous night's findings, it was difficult to dwell on them while peering down at the happy faces of his family, for once, unstrained with the grief of a burden he himself had brought upon them. True, they had embraced it, but it didn't make the FBI agent feel any less guilty for dumping his "problem" on them.

After they had found the fingerprinting dust, Terry and him had sped back to the office as fast as they could, and spent the wee hours of the morning racking their brains for possible leads on the trail of their mystery co-investigators. Don hated an enemy he couldn't see- it was easy to crash-and-bash take things out, but being forced to simply watch his shadow and wait for the obstacle to show itself- it made him more than nervous.

"Julie Dashee. She's the head coach of the Los Angeles Silver-Tree Colorguard. I called Lily's high school, and they gave me her number when I explained the situation." Don stiffened at Alan's response.

"What did you tell them?" he demanded sternly, turning on his father. The older man shook his head at the violent reaction.

"Just that I had a member of the guard and that she was sick and needed to contact the coach. Don't worry Donnie, I know how to keep quiet. But, the less you tell me, the less I know to keep secret." The older man flipped a page of his magazine nonchalantly, and stared up at his son. "It was Charlie's idea. He said that she needed her equations."

Don looked up again, watching as the girl lay what looked like a sword on one edge of the lawn and the rifle at the other. She moved a distance equally apart from them and posed stiffly, one hand up raised, the other behind her, one foot pointed in front of her body, which had taken on a graceful arc of concentration.

She _did_ look better. In the sun, her skin didn't have the sickly pale-sheen that it had in the past few days, and her hair, tightly pulled back, revealed a face touched with more then blind mourning. There was a focus that Don recognized from his Baseball years, a mindset that he taken her out of his world and into her own, where nothing existed but herself and her intentions. She had changed into dark green shorts that had two leaves embroidered in silver on them and a black tank-top that revealed a line of toned skin around her mid-drift. Her body was sturdy, athletic- not petit or particularly alluring, but fit and healthy._ She really is a pretty girl_, Don thought vaguely. His view was blocked by the Arab woman who strode across the lawn towards him, holding a boom-box in her hand.

She was stocky, but not large, with a single long black braid that swung back and forth as she walked. Her bearing was full of purpose and authority as she moved towards the three men, her age indiscernible- impossible to read, overshadowed by her extreme presence. When she reached the porch, she stopped and studied them for several moments.

"Do you have an outdoor outlet? Miss I-skipped-three-practices has a regional competition that she _needs_ to place in to qualify for national and international shows." The woman directed the question with a nod of greeting towards Alan." The man smiled at her, apparently amused by her no-nonsense attitude and pointed a few feet away from him, where an available outlet stood on the wall of the house. The woman nodded again, to show thanks and proceeded to plug the contraption in, then bent down to play with the controls.

"She's had a very difficult few days," Don said quickly, irritated by the woman's obvious lack of compassion. Perhaps his father hadn't explained the situation to her correctly-

"Yes, and so have I. Do you know what I went through when I thought I'd have to find another solo dancer for the show? I'm a good coach, but I'm no miracle worker. There's not a single other guard member that could-" Don frowned at the cold hearted words, bristling up. He too, respected the aura of intelligence that this woman toted, but he didn't like her attitude.

"You're lucky she's still able to walk and talk after what this girl's gone through!" he interrupted, his eyes glowering with anger. Julie finished fiddling with the CD player and stood up, turning to face Don.

"You must be Don Epps." she said. "When I talked to your father, I was surprised that I hadn't already met you." The woman held out a hand to the man, and he took it, albeit reluctantly.

"What…why?" The response didn't make any sense. Julie turned to look at Lily, who was still obediently in the starting pose for whatever she was about to being, ignoring the question.

"That girls' a tough one. She's got a history, and I've known her name since before she knew it. I taught her to dance before she could walk, and if there's one thing I've learned, it's that you can't let her stop. If she stops, she falls. If you push, she keeps going, even if she's been derailed, and if you push hard enough, she'll get back on the tracks." The words were quiet, and for the first time, Don heard traces of an almost maternal regret in them.

"A past?" he asked, the FBI part of him never dormant. The woman laughed softly, a full, rich sound.

"Government agent to the core." she said. "And it's about time." Don jumped and again, Julie laughed.

"I've been around them awhile. I used to be one- did CIA undercover missions around California. It got to be too much- I saw too many things that I can't forget, did too many things…" her voice betrayed nothing, but her eyes were troubled. Don found himself intrigued. "I finally said it was enough, and we cut a deal. I keep quiet about…everything, and they let me teach CIA sons and daughters to dance. Lord knows, they need something beautiful in their lives, with everything exploding around their ears."

"You knew…you knew that Nina Rissaya worked for the CIA?" Don asked, dumbfounded. Julie nodded, with another glance towards her student. Why hadn't he found her sooner? The man had to keep reminding himself that the case was only days old. It felt like years.

"I knew- the day she moved to LA, I came to her door-step and stole baby-Lily for her first dance lesson. Never said a word to the girl of course, but I sure as anything prayed after every practice that she wouldn't come home to find her mother with a bullet in her head. I guess God doesn't have time for every request."

"But, she was undercover, wasn't she? You wouldn't have been able to-" Charlie joined the conversation, his fascination with the topic undisguised. Julie shrugged and turned her attention to the young man.

"Part of the deal that we made." Charlie looked up at her, and even he didn't miss the shrewd darkness that came about the woman's eyes. "You're Charles Epps then, you're the one who had the idea to call me down. Sharp." Charlie smiled timidly at the compliment and turned back to his computer. Don wondered if the woman had any idea _how_ sharp. He decided that from what he knew of her, he wouldn't dismiss the idea. "Dancer's body too," Julie continued, still looking at Charlie. "Do you-" Now the mathematician blushed furiously.

"Uh…no, never." he stuttered, trying to keep his eyes on his word. Don grinned, armed with a new antagonistic remark for his younger brother, next time the young man's head got too large for his taste.

"You should ask Lily sometime, she could teach you a thing or two." Julie said offhandedly. Charlie muttered something indiscernible under his breath.

"You ready, Rissaya?" The Arab woman turned her attention back to the girl, one hand resting on the CD player. On cue, Lily threw herself into a jump turn and halted, pulling her body back before entering another spin and a deep dip-curtsy. Stiffly, her right came up in an unmistakable salute.

"Guard is pretty formal," Julie said to the surprised men, whose full attention had turned to the girl. "They salute to gain permission to enter evaluation." She raised her voice so that Lily could here. "Los Angeles Silver-Tree guard soloist Lily Aaralyn Rissaya, you make take the floor in competition." Julie slammed her hand down on the play-button.

A soft flute-tone came on, followed by the sound of a strong rhythm and a couple of other instruments. The song wasn't slow, but eerie, entrancing. It reminded Don of a waterfall at night. He didn't know why, but something about the inky melding of starlight and water rushing into faceless depths lent itself to the nature of the melody. It was not threatening, but at the same time almost frightening in its intensity, not accusatory, but knowing, as though it was making the listeners transparent, and stealing their secrets.

Lily immediately blended herself with the melody, the drum-beat matching her feet, the flute becoming her arms, her torso a violin. She easily spun and glided across the lawn, her posture rigid and fluid at the same time, a dancer to the core. She was the water, the stars, the rocks below, the watcher, and the watched, with a surety that only months of practice and discipline could bring.

A minute or two into the song, the young woman dipped down and picked up the sword, balancing it in one hand before swinging it into the other. Soon is was a whirling blur, leaving her hands farther and farther into the cloudless sky, each spin yielding a more complicated spin or leap on the ground, the young woman's eyes upturned and focused, her performance expression not a smile, for a smile wasn't appropriate to the song, but rather an intense stare, a challenge, and a glint of mystery.

The men watched, amazed at the transformed figure that had been their tragic emotional-bombshell.

"Wow," Don breathed. Charlie was silent, his eyes following the girl's every move.

"It's Ok, for not having done the routine in a few days. And it's nothing compared to what she'll be doing at the regional meet," Julie commented, her eyes intent and critical. "Don't shirk that extra half turn! Come on, keep your back straight! Straighter- I want to see every rib sticking out!" As she screamed critique for the invisible thoughts, Charlie sighed wistfully. There was something about the pure grace and emotion of it that he so lacked, and at the same time, he was very familiar with it- finding it in many other mediums of his own.

"She's amazing." Alan said, out of character in being so readily impressed. Again, Julie shrugged.

"As far as guard soloists go, she's alright, maybe even good. But she's a hardy one. You just keep knocking her down, and she gets back up and keeps dancing. She loves it. She sleeps dance, breathes it, you know." At this, the Epps brothers both nodded understanding.


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Snowing on the Beach

Author: Lady-Daine

Rating: PG/K+ (May go up later for language/violence)

Author's Note: Again, big hugs for Alamo Girl and Belligerent-road-pylon for their helpful and encouraging comments! You guys make my day!

Also, many, _many _ thanks to Lotrseer3350 for Beta reading and (attempting) to keep my chapters _somewhat _sane. This is much more readable for having been processed! And now that someone is looking over my shoulder, I can do whatever I want in my drafts...AKA I will have Charlie salsa dancing before this fic is over. Watch out…

So, without further ado, your chapter awaits.

Disclaimer: I have no affiliation with the T.V. show numb3rs, nor do I own any characters, concepts, or anything else relating to the show. I'm simply borrowing some of them because I was too lazy to make up my own. Don't sue me- I'm a Red Sox Fan _and_ a liberal!

**Snowing on the Beach**

**Chapter 6**

"Wow, this place is beautiful!" Lily exclaimed, bouncing around the now student-filled quad with all the enthusiasm of a young child. She swung her backpack over one shoulder and spun around, staring at the large branches above her, filtering sunlight down upon the busy scene.

"It's nice." Charlie admitted, his thoughts elsewhere as the two of them made their way towards the mathematics wing. "Haven't you been here a lot though, with your-" he cut off, unsure how much he should say. Lily stopped in her tracks and turned towards the young man. The emotional tug-of-war was still very much alive inside of her, but it was tempered now, tamed by pull of her calves that suggested hours of dance, the sun, and the soft smile on the face of the mathematician who stood beside her.

"Yeah. But never so…full of life." she replied, staring around as people of ages ranging from their teens their fifties and sixties went rushing past, books and papers flying everywhere, some calling out to others, holding hands, complaining, smiling.

"Now that may very well be perspective." Charlie said, shaking his head. She passed very quickly from the realm of age, sometimes taking advantage of her teenage years, other times sounding decades older. The young woman had a bright naivety about her that made her charming. Let free from the trap of her mind, she was an avaricious wonderer, poking and prodding around everything she saw, and reveling in the simple marvel of its existence.

"Yeah, I guess so." Lily continued to bounce down the trail for the sheer sake of doing so, leaving Charlie walking behind her, transfixed by the absolute transformation. He knew very well that some of it was a façade- she was an emotion suppresser, holding back what she was ashamed or afraid of feeling in favor of what she wanted the world to see- and she was very good at it- but at least some of her smile was genuine. He also knew better then to push it.

"So what exactly did you plan with your school?" Lily turned to him, though this time her face was slightly troubled at his question.

"Uh, Agent Epps called them."

"Don," Charlie corrected automatically. He still had trouble thinking of his brother as _Agent Epps_ even after years of hearing it.

"Yeah, Don." The words felt alien on her tongue. To her, he was still the tall man with Italian nose who spoke gibberish a lot of the time.

"Anyway, he called the office and talked for awhile about something- he didn't tell me what- and then I talked to my guidance counselor and he said that since I was graduating in two months anyway, due to 'concerns'," she made a face. "Because some people obviously don't think that I'm mature enough to know what goes on around my ears- that I should finish my studies independently. I already took all the AP exams because those are separate from the school tests and everything, so it's really just wrapping up."

Don had shoved Lily out the door that morning with Charlie and the keys to Alan's car.

"Stick her in your library," he had said. "She'll explain to you on the way, but I need to get going and-" that was the last word Charlie had heard before Don stuffed his head inside a dress shirt, late for having spent so much time figuring out what do to with their young predicament. Now he related well with the irritation that Lily felt, with others feeling as though it wasn't important to explain _anything_ to him. However, he felt that he had gotten the sorrier end of the deal with the whole car-keys business--Lily had driven. If the salt in his wounds wasn't painful enough when she asked him curiously why he wasn't driving, it was thoroughly scrubbed in when he found himself hanging on to his seat for dear life. Apparently, the young woman wasn't immune to the young-driver syndrome- that is, driving with only one rule: the faster- the better. For the second time in a very small period, Charlie had feared his life was going to turn upside down- literally.

"So you're going to go to the library and just…study?" the mathematician asked, pulling his mind off of his traumatic mode of transportation.

"Yeah, I guess. There's activities and labs and stuff I can do." She didn't seem at all unhappy by the idea of sitting down for six hours and absorbing material on her own.

"And you'll actually get it done?" Naïve or not, he _was_ a teacher, and he knew more then he wanted to about the work-habits of teenagers.

"Why not? Most of it is interesting stuff, and I've got enough foundation from the teachers to do it." Charlie shrugged, unable to find a reason why not, and moved his attention to scanning the crowd for Amita, wondering where she was.

"You can hang out in my classroom or office if you want. Believe it or not, it'll probably be quieter than the library with finals coming up," he said, eyes focused on the milling colors of the CalSci population.

"Alright."

"Charlie!" Amita appeared from the midst of the chaos, toting a book-bag and an iced-coffee.

"Hi!" the young man greeted his dissertation advisee with a fond smile, the implications of which Lily didn't miss.

"How was your weekend? Did you finish your half of Friday's tests?" The pretty woman with the dark locks fell into stride beside her mentor. "I bet you were too busy working on your imaginary space problem to-"

"I most certainly did finish them." Charlie answered with mock annoyance, amused by his student's gentle teasing.

"Is that the matrices you were using with 'i' in them?" Lily asked from the mathematician's other side. Charlie jumped, an alarm going off in his head that sounded amazingly like his father's voice, saying, _introduce them, like a normal human being. Don't get carried away with the math_.

"Yeah. Uh, Lily, this is Amita, I'm her dissertation advisor. Amita, this is Lily, my… uh, acquisition of the weekend." Peering past Charlie, Amita smiled warmly at the teenager, who returned it shyly.

"Acquisition?" the young woman asked, tossing some of her long hair behind one shoulder.

"It's a long story." Charlie replied, throwing her an _I'll tell you later_ look. "Suffice to say, Don brought her home one day, and decided that she's finishing high school as an independent study here, because he automatically connects school with a good learning environment. I don't know where he got that idea." Amita laughed melodiously, and Lily decided that she like her rich alto and sunny disposition.

"So, what's the game-plan for today?" Charlie asked, pleased with himself for keeping the introduction lighthearted with the given circumstances surrounding it. He would have to decide later how much he wanted to tell his student. He trusted her with almost anything, but he wasn't sure how much of the case was supposed to be released, or how much of it he really understood.

"You have classes this morning, and then research block after lunch, _professor._" Amita grinned at the fact that she knew his schedule better then he did.

"You know, I _do_ have some power over if and when you get this PhD that you're so adamant about. If I were you, I might choose to show a little more…reverence to your betters." He chose to ignore the lack of effort that both young women made to hold back malicious giggles.

When they reached the math wing, Charlie threw open one of the doors and strode in, enjoying the scent of chalk and paper that let him know that he was in his territory again. The women followed, Amita good-naturedly holding the door for a very wide-eyed, curious Lily.

"How old did you say you were?" the dark-haired woman asked, musing at the fascinated disposition of Charlie "acquisition".

"Hmm… oh, eighteen." Lily replied, looking around at the voluminous hallways full of classrooms and people.

"So you're a senior. Do you know where you're going for college?" Charlie blinked. He had forgotten that this girl had had a life pre-catastrophe. In fact, though he felt some sort of strange connection to this young woman, he really had _no_ idea who she was.

"Yeah, I'm going here. I think." Again, the young man jumped. This girl was a scientist, and probably a good one if she had gotten into CalSci. He could very well be teaching her the following year.

"You think?"

"Well, I have to find a way to pay for it, but, I mean, I got in here, and I want to go." Charlie was about to reply that it was likely that if her mom had had life insurance, she would be all set to go to any college she wanted, but he stopped himself, remembering how little Amita knew, and that the implications of such a statement would lead the bright graduate student to her own all-too-accurate conclusions. He was saved from having to mull the conflicting responses over too much, for he turned into his classroom, unsurprised to find it about half-full, despite the fact that his class was still forty minutes away from starting. Amita raised her eyebrows at him.

"What did I tell you about starting a vectors unit on a Friday? Everyone was too wasted or too tired to care about alterations in probability of direction change based on site coordinates. And you're too predictable not to have a quiz today." Charlie didn't offer any dignity to the comment.

"You set Lily up in my office, would you? I'm going to crack some heads together about not paying attention to my…earth shattering lectures."

112807398127983712987398179327918273

Don checked the address on the little slip of paper, then slipped it back into his jacket and turned towards Terry.

"Let's go," he said softly, pushing the glass door open. It was covered with a rainbow of fliers, each detailing various dancing shows, or musical events. Terry followed without a word. Together, the two of them wound up three flights of creaky stairs, with railings that used to be gilded gold, but were now chipped and black. A worn crimson carpet sank under their shoes as they ascended quickly, glancing around at white walls that also showed its age in the flaking paint and yellowing edges.

At the top was a door with fresh black lettering that said, "Studio". Don pushed this door open, and walked in, his hand resting on his pocket, automatically in "Agent Mode" even though there was no perceived threat. It surprised him to find himself face to face with the barrel of a gun.

"If you move, you might as well dance, because it'll be your last." The voice was familiar. Don reacted with all the experience of a seasoned agent, and froze. Julie was holding a shot-gun at his chest, one hand on the trigger, the other rightly on the barrel, steady with long years of practice. She was decked out in a jogging suit, and in the background, the agent could hear salsa music playing. The woman's dark eyes glanced at her target, and she immediately relaxed.

"I figured you'd be coming, but you might have made a little more noise," the Arab said, standing back and putting the safety back on her gun. "You scared the living daylights out of-"

"Do you always greet your visitors that way?" The FBI agent asked, trying to cover the sound of his racing heart. Julie was CIA to the core- she could have easily shot him and asked questions later- and in her position, it would have been entirely justified. He just hadn't expected her to be so…jumpy.

"Visitors that come at this time of day. I've no classes at seven-thirty, and with everything that's been going on, my fur is flying. I want to live at least until regional competitions."

"You suspect that someone might want to harm you?" Terry chimed in from behind the two. She too, was sticking a gun back in her holster, the tension just leaving her arms. Julie shrugged and stepped back, admitting the two agents.

"With another CIA agent dead and me teaching her daughter _and_ talking to the FBI? You never know. I'm Julie." The woman stuck her hand out to the female FBI agent, who shook it uncertainly, looking relieved at the gesture. Don peered around the room. It was a typical dance studio: a bench and cubbies to one room on his left, a bathroom on his right, and then a large open hardwood floor with mirrors covering the walls. It was larger then average though, much larger. The ceiling had to have been at least one hundred feet high; it was a regular cavern. However, unlike outside, everything in the place was bright and new- the walls painted a cheerful green, and the fluorescent lights hitting the floor, along with skylights along one side, lending a bright atmosphere to the place.

To one side was a mish-mash of rifles and sabers, much like what Lily had been toting, as well as what looked like staffs, batons, a pile of brightly colored scarves, about twenty flags, neatly rolled up, and several pairs of black dance shoes. Embedded in one of the walls was another door, though Don had no idea as to where it led.

"Do you have a place where we can sit down?" He asked."Ah, now be careful," Julie said slowly. "I know your trade too well. None of your FBI interrogation tactics are going to work. I prefer to stand." She sent a warning look with the light comment, and both agents got her meaning quite clearly.

"Alright, if you're so informed, why don't you just tell as what we want to know, and make it easy?" Terry asked, her hackles raised, unused to a poisonous disposition in those she interrogated. Julie turned towards one of the mirrors and examined her reflection for a moment, before turning and nodding to the two.

"I've been thinking about what I should be telling you two. It'll be the truth, within…" the woman paused for a moment, and ran her hand over her forehead, which had been beaded with sweat.

"Within…" Don prodded impatiently.

"Within… within what I think it practical to tell you."

"Why don't you leave the practicality of the information that you give us up to us?" Terry challenged.

"Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?" Julie looked mildly agitated. Absentmindedly she picked up a nearby saber and began to spin it with one hand, not even watching as the weapon whizzed around her body, its blade glinting in the florescent light. Silently, Terry acquiesced with a nod.

"Alright. " Julie turned away and gazed into the mirror for a moment before turning back to the two waiting agents, having shamed them into playing by her rules.

"Nina Rissaya moved here seventeen years ago, when her daughter was still shy of her first year. She was relocated, by the CIA. They lived in Boston before that. Lily's father was a writer- mostly nonfiction. He was interested in the lives of other writers- Sophocles, Shakespeare, Kafka. Anyone classic. I don't really know much about what happened to him. I don't think he ever knew that his wife was running covert missions for the CIA all over New England. As far as he knew, she was a chemist, cloistered away at MIT, doing experiments that would never leave the lab or the confines of a science journal.

"When they moved to California, the father was already out of the picture. Mark Rissaya, I think his name was. Nina never mentioned much of him.

"So they moved to LA, and Lily become my protégé. Nina began working at CalSci, running another mission. She told me a little about it- not much mind. But here's what I do know, and I'll swear by any god you want that it's all I know about the operation." Julie paused for a second, and let the saber she was spinning clatter to the ground. Both agents jumped at the noise, but the Arab woman didn't seem to notice.

"Apparently, the CIA got intelligence that someone- not a country or a government, just a private group- was beginning to edge on anti-matter. Not controlled anti-matter, but the kind that can get really nasty. I'm assuming you know a little bit about the stuff." The woman looked up just long enough to see Don's curt nod.

"They essentially want a bomb- something that could hold a city or two as hostages. I have no idea who or why-" She held up a hand before Don could voice the question. "I just know of the threat. Nina went in to try and beat them to the technology, and perhaps to get more of an idea of who we were reckoning with. When you're working in science, you meet a lot of people who are working similar fields, at conferences, doing research, stuff like that. So Nina's been spending years getting herself established and poking around. That's about as much as I know about that."

"Why would someone want to kill her? Was she getting too close to this threat?" Terry asked skeptically. Julie looked at her sharply.

"You want my honest opinion?" The agent nodded, and the woman's face grew grave.

"I don't know if there is any threat."

"What?" Terry and Don both exclaimed.

"Nina was brilliant- someone akin to the professor Charles Epps that all three of us are familiar with, and she had her morals. The CIA wanted the anti-matter that they could use to hold the United States' enemies at bay with, and Nina wouldn't build it- she would only develop the stuff if she could do it under the right controls, controls that wouldn't allow the threat of use as a weapon. She was getting very close to coming up with something, but only she had the ability to actually create it. They could have probably found someone else to eventually come up with the same thing- but when the CIA wants something, they want it _right away_. I think they waited long enough for her to get the technology ready, and then decided it wasn't worth the trouble of keeping her around to put safeguards on it. And the reason they might want to take Lily out- because she knows a little about what her mother has going on, and the potential to understand it. That makes her dangerous. But, you're just talking to an old lady who has seen a lot more then she ever wanted to, and doesn't trust anybody."

Don and Terry were absolutely silent. Julie shrugged again and picked up her saber.

"It could also be another group who knew about Nina's work and wanted to try and get something out of her. She knows enough not to talk. Perhaps they want to kidnap Lily and get the girl to talk- which she might. She has no idea that what she knows might be dangerous."

"Charlie told me that Lily's knowledge lacked quite a bit."

"Some people only need a little tidbit to set them up."

The two FBI agents took in simultaneous breathes, each digesting the new information and its implications. They only moved when Don's cell became to ring in the background. Mechanically, he reached down and flipped open the top.

"Epps."

"Don, it's me." Charlie's voice sounded panicked. "You need to get down here, now!"


	7. Chapter 7

Title: Snowing on the Beach

Author: Lady-Daine

Rating: PG/K+ (May go up later for language/violence)

Author's Note: Thanks a bunch to everyone who reviewed! It always feels wonderful to get commentary. Special idolatrous gratitude to LOTRseer3350 for Beta reading- she catches me when I do stupid things that don't make any sense, and helps polish up amazingly! Kudos!

Again, if you read this, and you don't mind, I do shamelessly _love_ to receive any and all comments, especially critique. No one is a perfect writer- tell me how I can improve!

Also, apologies in advance for the infrequent posts. Both myself, and my lovely Beta are being subject to AP testing and final classes…which can be very time consuming. I'm doing my best to keep things going, but the pile of books on my desk is rising at an alarming pace…

Disclaimer: I have no affiliation with the T.V. show numb3rs, nor do I own any characters, concepts, or anything else relating to the show. I'm simply borrowing some of them because I was too lazy to make up my own. Don't sue me- I'm a Red Sox Fan _and_ a liberal!

**Snowing on the Beach**

Chapter 7

"Charlie, what is it?" Don clung to the phone at his ear, unused to the urgency in his brother's voice. The tone on the other end crackled uncertainly, and the sound of commotion could be heard in the background.

"They want to take her!"

"Take who?"

"Lily!"

"Who wants to take her?"

"These, these…" the young man was obviously panicking. "They say they're from the CIA and they want to take her and they're-"

"Damn-it! Can you stall them, can you uh…?" Julie and Terry reacted immediately, understanding the situation from the sparse conversation.

"Ask them if they have an arrest or custody warrant! She's eighteen, so they need one!" Terry said quickly. The Arab woman took in a sharp breath.

"That won't work." Don felt his breath catch in his throat. If this was what it seemed, the CIA could take her away and shoot her in some back-alley with him watching, and there wouldn't be a thing he would be able to do about it.

"They have one." Charlie sounded like he was struggling to breathe. "It says something about them being able to take custody of her because of special circumstances, and it's signed by the police, I think."

"Oh God."

"What?" Julie and Terry both demanded at the same time. Don pulled the mouthpiece away for a second, though he was unwilling to put down the phone.

"They have a custody warrant. It's signed by the LAPD." For a moment, Julie looked relieved, but then she panicked all over again.

"They're fake! CIA does _not_ intersperse investigations with any local authority." Don closed his eyes momentarily, swallowing a rush of anger.

"Julie says they're fake. Don't cooperate with them."

"Don, they have guns." The FBI agent felt his heart stop. When Charlie had started getting mixed up in his investigations, he had vowed never to let the young man get into harm's way. Not only had he failed that, but the only potential link to an unsolved case was on the brink of being murdered.

"Why would they bother with the CIA thing if they have guns?" Hearing this, Terry and Julie both cursed aloud, reading between the lines for the situation.

"Because they want her alive." Terry said quickly, her eyes wide with the same fear that Don found himself drowning with.

"Listen, Charlie, you have to stall."

"Stall? How?"

"Uh…I don't know, something, anything. Pretend to get sick, or I don't know... I'm going to be there as soon as I can, but you can't let Lily go with them."

"But-" Don had already flipped the phone shut and shoved it into his pocket.

Within moments, he was flying down flights of stairs, closely followed by Terry and Julie, both of whom were fumbling to grab their guns. The lazy heat of the Los Angeles air stirred grudgingly around them, giving way as the three sliced through it, racing against time and hope.

1237108273981723987192378

Charlie cursed as Don cut off their call. His brother would be there, no doubt as fast as he could…but it wouldn't be in time. The two men in official looking shirts and ties looked impatient, at least as far as the mathematician could tell from the sparse view of a cracked office door. He had told them to hold on a second, that he had to make a phone call, and left before they could react. However, they didn't seem eager to wait much longer. Both of them were silently staring at Lily, who was staring back, frozen by their predatory gaze. There _was_ something about the two men that wasn't quite right. They were burly- both with nondescript brown hair and lifeless dark eyes- and they looked uncomfortable in their clothes, as though not used to wearing the business attire. Still, guns were guns, and CIA badges were CIA badges. This was _not_ turning out to be a normal day.

The young man had accepted by now that Lily was by no means _normal_. However, he did _not_ anticipate two CIA agents, or whatever they were, armed with very large guns, barging into his first-period vectors lecture and demanding custody of the girl. Now the students in his class were mulling around, anxious due to either the newcomers, or due towards the professor who had given them a tongue-lashing for their lack of attention the previous Friday.

Charlie's office door moved open a little farther, and he whirled around, the phone clutched in his hand, watching as the pale oak moved. Amita slipped into the office gracefully, her face a study of worry.

"What did Don say?" she asked. He was thankful of her blunt good sense, not questioning why or demanding background information on the current predicament.

"He says they're fakes…" the mathematician said breathlessly. "He wants us to stall."

"Stall? How?" The grad student pulled locks of hair out of her face and pushed them behind her shoulders, a nervous gesture that Charlie had become accustomed to.

"I don't know!" he replied, frustrated. "He just said 'somehow'."

"Lovely." Amita peered out at the two men. One of them was leveling a menacing glare at Lily, who was shaking slightly, **trying not to return the gaze**.

"Well, we can't just leave her out there." Taking a shuddering breathe, the young woman strode out of the office, tugging on Charlie's sleeve to indicate that he should follow. Fearlessly, Amita walked up to the two "agents" who stiffened when they realized that she was approaching them.

"Who did you say you wanted?" she inquired sweetly, putting a lukewarm smile on her face.

"Lily Aaralyn Rissaya." The first one answered, his eyebrows furrowed. "We've told you this already."

"And what's your business with her?" Amita continued. From behind her, Charlie could see that she was shaking slightly, but keeping her wits together quite well.

"**That's none of your business**, and we're on a tight schedule." The second man said, his stocky figure towering over the slighter stature of the young woman.

"Oh, alright. Well, she's not here." the grad student smiled politely and turned back to the class.

"Professor, I'm sorry these men have disrupted. If you would, please continue." Charlie blinked, utterly confused by his student's behavior. Amita shot him a venomous look.

"Ah," the mathematician shook his head. "Well, as I was saying, the vector quantities, those that require two variables, such as speed and directions, can be quantified with unknowns, but only if-" Charlie sauntered back up towards the front of the classroom, unwillingly turning his back on the two waiting antagonists. Struggling to breathe, he tried to assume his normal, eager tone of voice, all the while hoping that Amita knew what she was doing.

"Are you telling me that this isn't Ms. Rissaya?" The first man, the one who Amita had first spoken to, demanded, taking a step towards Lily, who tried not to flinch. The grad-student, who had taken her place at the desk in the front of the room, looked up, throwing Charlie another glance that insisted he continue the lecture.

"No, of course not. That's Amita, Professor Epp's thesis advisee." The dark haired woman replied. "But she's a little on the busy side, you see, working on this project for her-"

"I've had it with this bull! We have a picture of her right here!" The second "CIA agent" stepped forward and pulled a three-by-five school-picture of Lily out of his jacket pocket, matching it up with the face of the young woman sitting there. Amita looked shocked for a second, and froze in her tracks, taken off guard by the thoroughness of Lily's seekers.

"The…resemblance is uh, amazing, but I assure you-" The dark-haired woman took a step between the picture and the girl, trying to block the view of the two men, but the attempt was fruitless. One of them shoved her away, knocking the young woman backwards off her feet. Then he moved forward towards Lily, who had remained perfectly still throughout the exchange. Automatically, she made a jump for Amita, calling out her name in worry, for the other woman's fall had been anything but graceful.

The commotion had again stopped the class. The students, who hadn't paid much attention to the intruders before, now watched in silent fascination as they drew out pistols and converged on the two women huddled on the floor. Charlie abandoned all pretense of the lesson, dropped his chalk, and **propelled himself away from the board** in wordless horror. One of the "agents" stopped his descent on his prey and turned to face the young professor, gun up, safety off.

"FBI, get down!"

"Drop your weapons, and put your hands in the air!" Don and Terry, burst into the classroom from both entrances, surrounding the two intruders. Both men froze, but made no motion to relinquish their weapons.

"Put your guns on the floor and get your hands up!" Don demanded again, brandishing his own weapon. "Charlie, get down!" Immediately, the young man lowered himself to the ground, his breath coming out in small gasps. The room was filled with solid, palpable tension. No one dared make a sound or alter their position in the least, as opposing sides held guns at each others' throats.

"Charles, you know, you're making an awful lot of noise, and some of us are trying to-" The already open classroom door swung farther in, admitted a rather harried looking Larry, who was utterly oblivious to the surrounding conflict.

The newcomer caused one of the intruders to turn his head to the side slightly- he was obviously not a professional- giving Don the opening he needed. He rushed the man from his blind-side, taking him down and causing his gun to go clattering across the floor, towards Charlie, who flinched away from it. At the same time, Terry, from the other end, managed to hook her leg behind the knees of the other man, who had been distracted by his companion's demise. He went down with a cry.

The silence after that was stifling. Finally, the man at the door spoke with bemused wonder in his eyes.

"Charles, I must say, this is the oddest simulations I've ever seen you use. What exactly are you trying to portray?"

283798127391729371293718927398127937189273897

It was stifling.

Lily was sitting in an empty conference room, swaying slightly. Her head was in her hands, her voluminous locks of hair spilling onto a table teeming with sheaves of paper. Amita was nearby, a notebook open in her lap. She occasionally said something to the younger woman, but the attempts were rebuffed with silence. Charlie peered in on them, unsure or whether or not he wanted to join the morose congregation. On his other side, in the cubicles, Don was huddled with Terry and David, speaking in low voices. He was trying not to listen to the conversation, but it was impossible to miss some of the key phrases. _Jeopardizing the safety of an entire classroom… almost got someone killed…putting a high security case on the brink of full exposure…_

Somehow, the mathematician couldn't help but blame himself for the whole snafu. It had been he who had brought the girl into his class, and him who had let Amita shoulder the responsibility of stalling. He hadn't spoken to his student since the incident- and he supposed she deserved some manner of explanation, but he couldn't bring himself to provide it. The icy storm of emotions that forced themselves down on the young man was causing him to shiver both mentally and literally. He had almost hurt so many people, people who were under his care, his responsibility. People he cared about.

"Charlie? Charlie?" It took the young man a few moments to realize that someone was speaking to him. He whirled around, surprised to hear Julie's voice. For once, it was kind and warm, without a hint of demand or expectation in it.

"Uh, yes, did you need something?" he asked politely, still uneasy around the near-stranger.

"I'm taking Lily outside for rifle. You look like you could use some fresh air. You want to come?" The light tenderness of her offer, accompanied by a sympathetic glance made the mathematician want to crumble to the ground then and there. It was a far cry from the few cold words that Don had offered him that afternoon- not out of anger, but rather from sheer pre-occupation.

"Umm, I guess, sure." He didn't really want to, but the idea of keeping his current perch was less appealing than her offer. The woman nodded her understanding, and then gestured that he should wait a moment. Then she slipped into the conference room, and the young man could see her murmur a few words to Lily with one hand on the girl's shoulder. Surprisingly, she reacted immediately, standing up and shaking hair out of her eyes. While the expression on her face displayed no small amount of tension, Charlie was impressed with the young woman's resilience. He remembered Julie's words from the day before. _She keeps getting up_…

Julie led Lily out of the building wordlessly, her manner once again all professional and brisk. Charlie followed behind, brooding and cursing his own stupidity the whole way. When the Arab woman called a halt, he froze in place, breathing the cool evening air, and willing himself not to dwell on the knot of guilt hat had settled in his stomach. Working with Don…it was too much-too much to delve into. At first he had loved the thrill of a new challenge- to work with living breathing math. Even more, he had basked in his brother's admiration, and the relationship they were developing that had previously seemed impossible. But now, it was all crashing down around his ears, turning into an irrevocable mess of heady risks and careless mistakes.

"Charlie, come here for a second." He pulled himself unsteadily out of his reverie. Julie was beckoning with one hand, the other holding the CD player that apparently made its home in her car.

"Uh, ok." The young man moved cautiously towards the two women, at a loss for what they could possibly want with him.

"Rissaya has never been much of a 'partner' dancer, but I think it'd be good to try something new. It will take all of her mind, so she'll stop sulking." Charlie didn't bother to point out that the young woman had the right to sulk. Instead, he grappled to understand what the woman was saying. _Partners? But that_ _would mean…maybe she just wants me to hit the play button for her_.

"Alright Epps, one hand on her waist, the other takes her arm…" Julie was gesturing impatiently as Charlie stared, his mind reeling.

"Oh…no," he hoped that she didn't _really_ mean what he thought she meant. "I don't…I couldn't…"

194012301283091823098120398

"Don, I think you should come here." Terry's voice broke through the wall of thought that surrounded the deeply disturbed man. The nebulous foe that he was up against always seemed to be one step ahead of him. The two suspects were a couple of construction workers that had worked a few blocks down from CalSci and wanted to make a few extra bucks. In a few words, they knew absolutely nothing.

"What is it?" he asked distractedly.

"Well…" David had also made his way over to the large window that served the federal offices. It sounded like he was choking on his own breath. "Julie mentioned something about distracting the two kids."

"Two?" Don questioned, looking up from the pages and pages of interrogationnotes that he had.

"Two." Terry affirmed. She also, seemed to be hard pressed to speak. The elder Epps brother wondered vaguely if some terrible disease had swept his team- they sounded like they were dying. With a sign of indignation he stood up, scattering papers around him, and made his way to the window. After a moment he spoke.

"Am I drunk?"

"I would hope not, Don." Terry replied, her eyes scanning the scene below them. After a few moments, she punched him in the arm. "Come on, we have work to do."

0123871928739127389172938719237

Don slammed his fists into the table, causing the occupant in the nearby chair to jump several inches. His ruddy face was wide eyed with fear- there was no hardened experience that betrayed anything but what the man claimed that he was- a construction worker looking to make a bit of extra money.

"Two hundred dollars? You agreed to kidnap a woman at gunpoint for two hundred dollars?" The agent had a stiff set of morals himself, but he had always thought that even the most lenient of people would cross kidnapping off of their list of possible money-making activities.

"It, wasn't like that." The man's voice was thin and reedy. He stared at the hardwood of the table, looking very cowed and meek.

"What was it like then?" Don demanded, perching himself on the table and looking down at the suspect with a heated dislike that he didn't know he even possessed.

"It was… well, the guy said that it was a marriage problem. He told us that it was his daughter, and that she really wanted to go with him, but she couldn't because the courts were making her stay with her mother, and that…surprising her…was the only way that he had a chance to reclaim her because of the court orders, but that once she was free she'd be able to- clear things up. It wasn't _really_ kidnapping."

"And you believed that crap? You believed some _guy_ that came up to you and gave you suits and guns and told you to pose as CIA agents?" Don raised his eyebrows in disbelief. Surely these men weren't _that_ stupid.

"He was the boss, ok. It was that, or probably a pink slip."

"Your boss made you do it?"

"Yeah…no."

"Make up your mind and spit out the truth- you're in hot water all ready- don't start us boiling." Don's glare could have stripped paint.

"He said he was a friend of the boss's- another contractor or something. And he implied that…that we didn't have a choice, but he phrased it as a request, all polite-like, you know?"

"Yeah," Don gritted his teeth and turned away from the man in disgust. "So it was your job, or the life of an innocent child, and you chose yourself!"

"No! Like I said, he said she wasn't going to be hurt, that she was going to be happy to-"

"Shut the hell up!" The FBI agent had had enough. He was ashamed- ashamed of the human race for fostering the scum that would put a teenager at gunpoint for a couple hundred dollars. "Here's what you're going to do. You're going to describe this man to the next agent that comes in here, with as much detail as possible. Then, you're going to tell him everything you told me, again, in as much detail as you remember. If you do this, we might be able to soften the counts of aggravated assault with a dangerous weapon and attempted kidnapping charges that we can level. It might bring your prison sentence down by a few years." Don took perverse satisfaction in the pallid sheen of sickly green that came over the man's face when he mentioned the word "prison."

"Oh yeah, we're talking hard time, maybe twenty, thirty years, if you're lucky." Don addressed the man with another scowl before storming out of the room, leaving his quarry shaken and broken.

123712983791273919231273918273

"He'll talk." Don said, after slamming the door on the interrogation room. Terry and David looked at the small smirk of satisfaction that played across his features and exchanged slightly disturbed expressions. Once the agent got into a case, he became obsessive, almost animal like, and spared no measure to solve a case. And never had they seen him so personally invested. But after all, the case _was_ personal.

"We've gotten everything from Amita, Charlie, and Lily. It all matches- descriptions, events. That girl, the grad student, has an excellent head on her shoulders." David replied, shuffling through the pile of documents on his desk, and preparing to do another interrogation on their suspects, who were cowering in their respective isolation chambers.

"Great. I'm going to take Charlie and Lily home, and Amita back to her dorm or whatever. She might want to hole up at our house for the night. I'm going to post agent Copland on the house, just in case, and I'll be back." Don strode through the cubicle, searching out the new agent. He found him not far away, in one of the various cubicles. The lanky young man, just out of the academy was good for the purpose that was needed for- he would be completely thorough in his actions, and would play by the book. He wouldn't relax his guard for anything.

"Copland, you have guard duty tonight. I'll relieve you later." Don's dark eyes flashed a stern, authoritative aura over the young man's surprised response to his summons. Though there were many agents in the building, Don seldom branched out to other teams, let alone new recruits, with his missions, as a special agent. He _was_ however, well known and well respected, and there was something of awe in the younger man's assessment of his superior. This was what Don had been counting on; it would ensure that the job was done effectively.

"My brother, you've heard of him?" Don asked.

"Y-yes, Charles Epps, the math genius." Copland answered, brushing wisps of dirty blonde hair out of his eyes. He looked up from his computer screen, his icy jade eyes meeting Don's not fearlessly, but confidently, eagerly. _He'll be good at this, some day_, Don thought. It took a few years to knock idealism and naivety out of new agents, but to get out of the academy and to get a job as young as Alex Copland had- he was in his early or mid twenties- said something for his competency.

"You'll be posted on him, and Lily Rissaya, who is under our protection, and possibly Charlie's protégée, Amita, who was also involved in today's incident. I'm going to take all of you to the house that Charlie shares with our father, Alan. Secure it, and keep them inside, or in immediate vicinity. I don't think there's going to be trouble, but I don't want to risk anything on assumption." Alex nodded, and Don made a mental check of approval in his mind- he had just recited an essential basic from his past training, and the younger agent had caught the subtlety in the challenge.

"I'm going to collect your assignments and brief them on the current condition. It isn't a high risk situation- just go get briefed by agent Sinclair when you're finished with whatever you're doing, and meet us in the parking lot." Copland nodded again, absorbing the information, obviously trying not to appear excited at his first "real" assignment, or having a conversation with the "famed" Don Epps. As the young man quickly logged out of his computer programs and prepared to meet David, Don put a hand on his shoulder.

"This is my brother. He's a grown man, but he's not invincible, he's not FBI, and he's had more then enough gun scares in his life, for someone who belongs in a classroom. You make sure this is as easy as possible on everyone. Don't scare them, but don't let anything get by you."

12301283012830182308129083908

The mood was somber as the three young adults entered the familiar setting of Charlie's house. The young man had convinced Amita to stay at the house for the night, insisting that it was for his security as much as hers. She was just shaken up enough to agree. Alex Copland followed closely behind the group, surveying the area and mentally assessing the measures he would need to secure the area.

It was dark now- and the shady gloom poured in from the open door, repelled meekly by the light cast from the kitchen lamps and the half-moon that was overhead. The dark marble settings on the countertop were forbidding in the shadow, the rolling colors melding and playing across the softly hued tiles on the floor. Charlie sank down on one of the stools, and motioned for the two women to do the same. Amita complied, but Lily moved quickly passed the kitchen, her eyes on the stairs that were still swathed in shadow.

"I'm…I'm going to go take a shower." She said into the silence, her eyes downcast.

"Lily…" the mathematician didn't know what to say to help the situation, so he let his voice drift off. She took his hesitation for anger, and wilted under the silence.

"I'm…I'm sorry, about everything." Her voice was saturated with guilt, and she could barely bring her eyes up to meet Amita's and Charlie's before she bolted up the stairs.

"Lily!" Amita called after her, understanding at once the situation. She raised her hands in frustration.

"Oh god, she's blaming herself for all of this- she thinks that everything is her fault." The young woman turned to her professor with wide-eyed sympathy for the girl. Charlie shook his head,

"I know. Give her awhile. She's a bright girl- she just needs to get over the initial shock and then we'll be able to get through to her." He gazed off in Lily's wake, trying to hide his worry. She had been so unresponsive in the past few hours- so utterly solitary, unwilling to let anyone into her shadow world. She didn't even react when he had stepped on her toes- countless times, his face burning with unstrained embarrassment. He didn't know how long it'd be before she sealed everyone all completely.

"I'm going to check the perimeter." Copland came up behind the duo, awkwardly entering the conversation, obviously unsure whether it was alright to intervene.

"Alright, but I doubt you'll find anything. If you find an old man around here somewhere- don't shoot him. He belongs to us." The unnerving lack of humor in his voice caused the young agent to do a double take before he saw Charlie's weak smile. He nodded wordlessly, and walked off into the darkness. Truth be told, the mathematician had felt a little stung by having an agent who was obviously years younger then himself guarding him. However, he trusted Don's judgment, and after the events of that morning, he was willing to do just about anything for some peace and the feeling of safety. Not to mention the fact that informing his brother about having a keeper kept Don from commenting on the younger man's…recent activities. From a distant gleam of amusement in the FBI agent's eyes, Charlie knew that he would receive a serious dosage of grief when the seriousness of the situation had worn off.

"She is a bright girl," Amita said softly, her dark eyes reflecting the soft light from over the stove, giving her an almost ethereal look. "You seem to really care about her." Now her tone was wistful, almost sad.

"I do- it's strange, it's been only a few days, but there's a weird connection between us, you know?" Charlie wasn't paying attention to his companion, but rather, was staring at the shadowy patterns across the opposite wall.

"So you're… um, together?" the young woman asked, sounding as though she hated to ask the question, but needed to know the answer. It was almost funny in that it was so similar to the tone that Charlie himself had used several weeks ago when she had told him she had an arranged marriage.

"Together? Lily and I?" He laughed, more because he was startled then because the idea was funny. Amita brightened like a newly watered flower.

"You're not? The way that you two connect, made me think that…" Amita shook her head at her own folly and chuckled softly, her relief evident enough to catch Charlie's attention.

"Hardly," he affirmed, his mind trying to wrap itself around his student's curiosity. "It's like- like finding a long lost twin or something. Maybe because we both lost a mother, or, I don't know. Very strong bonding, surprisingly so, much akin to an ionic bonding of-"

"But platonic." Amita interrupted him before he could launch into a lecture on chemical bonding. She wanted him to stick to the point.

"Quite." Charlie replied, turning towards his protégée and thinking that the lighting was perfect for her. It warmed her complexion, turning her skin to a pure amber honey, and her hair into raven strands of silk. "Why do you ask?"

3408103802830918230981209381029830912

Alex had finished his voyage around the outside of the Epps house, and was making his way back into the house via the back door when he ran into the "old man" that Charlie had mentioned. Said resident was not entirely pleased with the idea of an FBI agent being sent to guard his house, and demanded a full explanation of _why_ the young man was there. By the time he finished with the older man, Alex almost pitied Don for the grief that he was due to get when he returned home later that night. It was hard to fathom _the_ Don Epps receiving a lecture, but after having met his father, it was a little bit easier.

The blonde holstered the pistol he had been toting and opened the back door, letting himself back into the Epps' house, deciding that he ought to station himself somewhere and wait for Don to return. He was still in slight disbelief that he had in fact gotten a _real_ assignment, but the young man wasn't about to let it go to his head.

_I might be green, but I'm not stupid_, he thought, a he bolted the door he had just entered through and moved silently into the dark house. From the other room, the voices of the math genius and his student rang softly. The earnest sounds of their tones suggested an intense conversation between the two, and Alex had no wish to disturb it. Instead, he moved across the den that he found himself in, and up the stairs, wondering if he could find a room that would allow him to survey the front lawn, the most likely place that an attack could be sprung from.

The darkened hallway of the upstairs made the agent nervous, and reminded him again that he was on duty, and on _serious_ duty at that. To dispel the feeling that he was simply picking through someone's house, the young man took his gun out again, feeling a little foolish. There wasn't anyone up here but him. Charles Epps, his student, and Mr. Epps senior, were all downstairs. Slowly, he crept along the corridor towards the room at the end of the hallway. Turning the handle, he let himself in, seeing it as the best potential outpost to take.

"What the-" The blonde had slipped into the room, just as Lily was pulling a tee-shirt over her head. She spun around in mid-dress with a gasp, just as Alex lifted his gun in surprise. There were no lights in the room, but enough was provided by the window so that there was no mistaking who the other figure in the room was- or what she had been doing.

"Oh God, I'm sorry, I forgot that, I forgot-" The blonde agent quickly turned around to face the door that he had just slipped through, his cheeks turning a bright crimson. _Great, your first mission, for Don Epps, of all people, and you forget about one of the people you're supposed to be protecting. Smooth- just beautiful. You stupid blonde!_

"Why are you getting dressed in the dark?" Alex blurted out, still staring at the door. The only response he got was the heavy breathing of the young woman. Turning around slowly, the young agent saw that she was huddled on the floor, staring up at him fearfully. "I'm not a threat," he said, frowning at her position. "You remember me, I'm the agent that Don Epps assigned, Alex-"

"I've…I've just had too many guns pointed at me in the last…couple of days." she replied quickly, interrupting him. The young woman stood up, her shirt fully on now, looking a little reproachful. "It suits my mood better."

"What?"

"You asked why I was getting dressed in the dark. I told you. Why were you poking around in the dark?" The girl crossed her arms and threw the young man an inquisitive stare.

"I was just checking- making sure everything was secure."

"And is everything secure in this room, to your satisfaction?" Lily demanded, looking slightly perturbed. Alex's FBI senses flared at the signs of hidden emotion, but he ignored them, knowing that probing into this girl's mask was none of his business.

"Yes," he mumbled, feeling like a child, even though he was several years older then the young woman.

"Ok." Lily continued to stare at him.

"Then I'm off." Alex muttered as she watched him expectantly. _Stupid blonde…_


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Snowing on the Beach

Author: Lady-Daine

Rating: PG/K+ (May go up later for language/violence)

Author's Note: Thanks a bunch to everyone who reviewed! It always feels wonderful to get commentary. And, as always, big kudos to LOTRseer3350 for Beta reading- she is a magician that makes mud puddles into readable…sort of…fiction

Again, if you read this, and you don't mind, I do shamelessly _love_ to receive any and all comments, especially critique. No one is a perfect writer!

I'm sorry it took me so very long to update! Things are so very hectic….

Disclaimer: I have no affiliation with the T.V. show numb3rs, nor do I own any characters, concepts, or anything else relating to the show. I'm simply borrowing some of them because I was too lazy to make up my own. Don't sue me- I'm a Red Sox Fan _and_ a liberal!

**Snowing on the Beach**

**Chapter 8**

Charlie rubbed his eyes wearily and blinked a few times before turning his attention back to the page. Seizing the opportune moment, he and Amita had wiled the evening away crunching numbers- literally- as they worked on one of Larry's latest propositions. Time had been stolen away from them, whisked into an oblivion of shadow and fatigue, and already the first rays of morning were creeping in through the kitchen windows.

"I'm going to collapse any moment." His protégée looked up wearily from her computer screen, squinting to make out her professor's face. Their conversation the night before had been…uncomfortable to say the least, in that it was extremely awkward. It had taken only a few moments for realization of her own boldness to creep up with her, and the young woman had drastically shifted the subject as soon as the opportunity arose. The result was a resigned belief that no matter how much she might have wanted to chase after her mentor, or vice versa, destiny did not approve. At least for the time being.

"I feel the same way." Charlie stood up, albeit a little unsteadily, and moved towards the window. He pushed it open, allowing a cool breeze to flow into the room and sweep past his face. Inhaling the sweet aroma of morning dew and earthy must, the young man closed his eyes and allowed himself to savor the moment. It was not often that he managed to work himself into such an exhausted stupor that he was distracted from his work, and allowed to notice small things like morning scents and cool breezes.

"You can have my bed." The mathematician turned back to his student, willing himself awake long enough to get her settled. The perpetual struggle between sleep and anxiety had played against them all night, keeping them awake and alert, even as their bodies demanded to be recharged.

"No, I'm more than fine with a blanket and a sofa," Amita said immediately, looking up and trying to force earnest emotion into her eyes. "Really, I wouldn't feel comfortable-"

"I insist!" Charlie remembered the last time he had appeared "un-gentlemanly" and the scathing lecture he had received from his father.

"And I insist on the opposite. Innocent or not, the thought of sleeping in my thesis advisor's bed would not appear that way, and my mind has ways of twisting comments." Amita forced a smile and stood up, carefully gripping the counter as though to keep her balance. Charlie threw up his hands in defeat.

"Alright, you win." He quickly launched himself into the living room and retrieved a woolen throw-blanket from a corner arm chair. It was a tangle of greens and blues- too dark to be pretty, but comforting in the coolness of its colors. The soft feel of the cloth in Charlie's hands made him long for his own bed, but he shrugged the feeling off and handed the blanket over the Amita before hunting out a pillow from a nearby closet.

"Are you sure you're going to be alright?" He asked, looking rather anxious as the young woman arranged the pillow on the longest couch and removed her shoes.

"I've been living in a dorm for the last few years. This is luxury." Amita threw him another reassuring smile, and sat down on the sofa. "Goodnight Charlie!" She said it with such resolve that the young man turned on his heel and marched up the stairs towards his own rest, trailing a sleepy "goodnight" behind him.

_He was dancing again. It was horrible- he was sure that there was mathematical precision to the movements, but they were still awkward and clumsy. Lily moved lightly in his grip, one hand on his shoulder, the other in his hand. She was lax- holding on, but no more touching him then if they were worlds apart. He, on the other hand, held on for dear life, his eyes focused downward as to ward his feet away from prospectively trodding on hers._

_"1-2-3, come on Epps, you're a mathematician and I'm counting, why are you off?" Julie's voice was ringing through his confusion and he found himself annoyed. He wasn't a dancer, and he didn't want to be here…_

_But then again, he didn't want to be anywhere at that particular moment. _

_Perhaps that was the point_.

_He kept trying, attempting to remember the ordering of the steps, up, forward, side, back, side, forward…_

_But then they were falling. The green lawn below them had become a black void of starlight and leering faces, faces that he couldn't see. And Lily wasn't there anymore. Instead, Charlie was dancing with Don, only Don was wearing the sunglasses of a CIA agent, and carrying Lily's rifle…_

Charlie sat up urgently, gazing around his empty room and searching for his brother, or sunglasses, or-

"Hey buddy. It's about time." The young man turned towards the door to see Don leaning against the frame, looking wan, but otherwise the same as always- no CIA suits or accessories. The circles under his eyes showed strain and not enough sleep, but the older man's voice sounded fresh and well rested.

"I didn't get to bed until…late." The mathematician answered a little crossly as he forced himself to roll out of bed. Unfortunately for him, he wasn't as steady on his feet as he had hoped. The moment they touched the floor, they rejected his scant weight, and the young man found himself lying on the dark-blue carpet, staring up at his brother. Don's face twisted into a smug grin that made Charlie want to smack him.

"Late? What were you doing? Curled up comfortably with that grad student of-"

"I most certainly was not!" Charlie flew to his feat heatedly, praying that he wouldn't blush. Don nodded vaguely.

"Sure, alright."

"I wasn't!"

"Ok Charlie."

"I WAS NOT!" the young man gritted his teeth, trying to shake the weariness from his eyes as he moved to fulfill his violent motives and throw something at his brother. Don anticipated the move and moved quickly beyond the doorframe.

"I wasn't." Charlie cried again, despondently, feeling defeated.

"Then were you…what was it? A tango? With Lily?"

"Would you shut up? Those of us who do not have intense coffee addictions are not as _chipper_ as one would hope." The professor rubbed his eyes and sat down on his bed, still unable to really function. He _needed_ to start making sleep a priority, much as he hated the idea. "And it was salsa."

"Salsa, ok." Don leaned sideways and rested his head on the doorframe. "Are you going to go to work anytime soon?" he asked.

"What time is it?"

"9:30."

"9:30! I have a lecture in half an hour and I'm not prepared and-" The anxiety of being late for a sermon on vectors and sines offered the mathematician a temporary boost of adrenaline. He swiftly flung himself at Don, forcing the other man aside, and then moved down the hall towards the bathroom, nearly steam-rolling Agent Copland, who had been moving down the hall, also on a caffeine high.

"Sorry," Charlie dodged the younger man and slipped into the bathroom, grabbing a towel from the linen closest just inside the door as he strove to maneuver around the tiled chamber and turn on the shower at the same time. In a moment of clarity, he slammed the door shut, leaving a slightly dazed Alex Copland behind him.

Don shook his head and followed Charlie's dazed path to the bathroom door. Rapping on it with his knuckles, he called in to his brother.

"Charlie?"

"Mph?" The muffled response was followed by a couple of crashes and bangs.

"I'm going to let Lily work in my office today, alright? She's going to be safest there, I think, until we have a better handle on what's going on."

"Uh huh." It sounded like Charlie was trying to brush his teeth, wash his face, and comb his hair all at the same time.

"And I'm sending Copland to school with you. Just in case."

"WHAT?" the various crashes and the sound of running water ceased.

"I think it's best…I don't want to take any risks." Don braced himself. Momentarily, the bathroom door crashed open, sending steam and water droplets flying everywhere. At the center of it all was a very perturbed looking Charlie, a tee shirt on inside out, and a towel wrapped around his waist. In one hand, a comb hung limply, and his black curls were now a tangled mess that fell in his eyes.

"I don't need a…babysitter." The young man gritted his teeth, his expression hostile.

"It's not a babysitter; you're in the middle of a criminal investigation." Don rolled his eyes at his brother and took a step back to avoid getting soaked. "Besides, we always put an agent on you when you're working with us."

"But this isn't a consulting job. This is my work, and _my_ world." Charlie emphasized his point by holding a hand up to his temple. "It's hard enough to keep my dignity on campus when I'm younger then some of my students. You want to make it worse by letting a…_fed_…. trail me?"

Don took a step back, more than a little surprised to hear the slang term for federal agents slip out of his brother's mouth. He knew it was commonality on college campuses, known for civil disobedience and anti-governmental sentiment, but Charlie had always been meticulously careful not to use the derisive term in front of his brother.

"Yes Charlie." The FBI agent let a little scorn sour his tone as he faced down his brother. "I'm going to let a _fed_ follow you around on the off-chance that someone decides they want to take down a certain math professor. Remember the last time that I assigned an agent to you and you neglected to stay with him?"

At this, the younger man winced visibly, and his already pale skin took on a white sheen. Obviously the painful and very chaotic memory of being pushed to the ground and nearly being taken out by a rogue sniper was very well imbued in the mathematician's mind. Don almost felt bad for his brother, but he was still feeling the stinging after-effects of being called a _fed_ by him.

Charlie ducked his head and side-stepped both agents, heading back to his room and leaving a vague grunt of assent in his wake. Even in his anger, his voice was slightly cowed.

213091283018230192830120938098

"Forty-two year old Jonathon Hart is a contractor on the construction project downtown, where our two suspects came from. He fits the description that was given. I think he's our guy." David leaned back in his chair as he thrust some files at Don, who was perched on a nearby desk. Out of the corner of their eyes, both men could see Lily, bent studiously over a pile of paper and text-books in one corner. She had been silent, sulking since that morning, but between Charlie's glowering looks and a few nasty glares from Alan, who had leveled him with a lecture about sending FBI agents to secure _his_ house, Don had not the energy or the desire to inquire into her mood.

"Why are you so quick to pin it on him?" Terry asked from Don's other side. She also was throwing subversive looks at Lily, and her eyes showed concern.

"Take a look at this." David tapped a few keys on his computer, and a brightly hued website up, bearing the name "_AACJ_ _Corp_."

"What the hell is that?" The dark brown letters, on a blue plane, were surrounded with what looked to be models of various atoms, complete with animated electrons. Something about it looked very sinister, though Don had no idea why. Never before had he felt threatened by atomic models.

"It's a club of sorts." David said dryly.

"What kind of club?" Don didn't like the tone that the other man was using. It was that sort of resigned, almost amused, very ironic tone that seemed to lead into a particularly frustrating quandary.

"A club-" David couldn't help letting a little bit of drama slip into his voice. "For exiled scientists."

"What?" The black man scrolled down the page and clicked on the entry button.

"It's a group of scientists, mathematicians, any kind of logistician, essentially, who are anti-ethics."

"Anti-ethics?" Terry raised her eyebrows.

"Well, from what I've found, that seems like the best explanation. You see, their rationale is that whatever people _can _do, they _should_ do. They're pro-everything: stem-cell research, cloning, you name it."

"Well, that doesn't sound too evil. A little on the extreme side. But we're not talking about a mad scientist society or anything." Don leaned forward to read the opening text on the page. It read as rather benign, if a little arrogant.

"Yeah, but I did a little reading on these guys. They're pretty weird. They seem to believe that because they're smart, they should be allowed to play God. Some of the proposals on this site are a little extreme. And so are the members. They seem to draw some pretty sketchy people. Hackers, surgeons with weird operation ideas, weapon designers who once worked for the government, the lists goes on. But some of them could be pretty dangerous."

"So we have brotherhood of kooks out there who want to eliminate morals in the name of science?" Don was skeptical. If these people were_ really_ dangerous, he'd probably have dealt with them before, and if not, what would they have to do with a dead CIA agents? David turned towards his superior and nodded, a small smirk on his face.

"That's pretty articulate. So far they've kept a low profile- they haven't done anything that is obviously illegal, just put some weird ideas on the internet and collected a few members. But they're on the CIA watch list, obviously, because they have damage potential. I mean, to join, you have to take some rigorous IQ test and prove that you've qualified to be in the ranks. Then you gotta figure out what's with their name. And you have to cite your devotion to a purely scientific society. From what's on the site here, you have to denounce any other religious faith and stuff. Really extreme."

"I'll say." Don grabbed a chair from a nearby cubicle and wheeled it up next to David so that he could sit next to him.

"But why would these guys want to steal technology from someone else? If they're so smart, why don't they just invent it themselves?" David's brow furrowed as he attempted to work out the twisted logic that was unraveling before them.

"Intelligence doesn't come only in science." Terry replied quickly, also moving forward for a closer look at the screen. "Maybe they thought they'd get back at the CIA for being labeled a threat instead of being showered with laurels. Killing an undercover agent and using her research to hold a city hostage. That'd be one amazingly brilliant operation." The woman sounded almost hopeful as though she preferred this to Julie's government conspiracy theory. Don decided that he did also.

"Lemme get a look at this site. It sounds pretty bizarre. And what does this have to do with Mr. Hart?" David pushed himself back and allowed Don to take over the computer.

"See for yourself. He's the founder."

139719823719827398172931928739827

Charlie frowned and wiped a few symbols off of his chalkboard before continuing the problem. It had _not_ been a good day. First, he had had to deal with this…_fed_ following him around constantly, then he had allowed himself to fall into the oldest teaching trap into the book in his first class- allowing his students to get him so off topic on some tangent beyond the realm of the class that it would be impossible for him to carry out with a quiz that he had threatened them with for the next day . _Then_, his second period class, which met first period the day before, was a silent mass of slightly frightened faces, which made lecturing a nightmare. They had been told that the events the day before had been a drill meant to test Charlie in his problem-solving skills, because of the dangers of consulting for the FBI, but not one of them bought it. And to make things worse, everyone around him seemed to be in a ridiculously _chipper_ mood that was wearing on his tightly strung nerves.

The mathematician jumped as his cell phone rang, stealing him away from his morose self-pity. Copland, who had been lounging in the back of his classroom all morning, sat up immediately, his hand going to his waist, and then relaxing as he recognized the sound.

"Hello?" Charlie tried to school his voice into a pleasant tone before he snapped at the wrong person.

"Charlie, it's me."

"Hi Don. Are you checkingup on me to make sure I haven't been kidnapped yet?"

"The way you're acting today Charlie, I'd almost like to see someone pick you up, just to get you to shut up and stop acting like you're five and someone's making you go to bed early."

"I am not acting like I'm-"

"Are too."

"I am not!" From the back of the room, Alex Copland looked stunned at the idea of a math genius and his boss arguing like a pair of adolescents.

"Anyway, look Charlie, I have a few questions for you." The idea of being addressed with questions, perked the professor up immediately, and he instantly forgot that he had been quarreling with his brother moments before.

"Shoot."

"Okay, first off, have you ever heard of an organization called _AACJ_?"

"AACJ…it sounds familiar…umm…" Charlie squinted his eyes shut for a moment, wracking his mind for a reference, some clue that might allow his memory to collect together his loose strands of thought. "Well…I think that it's meant to stand for four numbers in a sequence. Actually, they are! They're the first four in the sum of multinomial coefficients, only matched up with their corresponding letters in the alphabet. It's a classic example of…" Don blinked as he strove to follow his brother's lightening fast thought process, mildly impressed that a secret coding of a logistician club had taken him about thirty seconds to figure out.

"Ok, Charlie, but what does it mean to you, besides numbers? It's a group of-"

"AACJ! Oh God, I remember now." Charlie tapped himself lightly on the head, willing everything he knew to flow into his head. "They're… kind of a weird group of scientists, a lot of them are college drop-outs and hackers, aren't they? Like, scientific cast-outs? I've heard of them." Now his voice was flavored with a little bitterness. "We lose people to them all the time- kids who go to far with stuff, or get fed up with our rules. Why?"

"We've got a link to Lily's case. The head of the group seems to fit the description and possible whereabouts of the guy who hired our two bozos to try and kidnap her." Charlie dropped his chalk in surprise.

"You think that the AACJ wants to steal anti-matter technology?"

"Maybe." Don's voice sounded a little weary on the phone.

"But that's pretty uncharacteristic; they'd probably want to figure out how to develop it themselves."

"And that's why they'd shoot the one who actually had the data, the mother. Kidnap the daughter, use her limited resources to develop the world's most technologically advanced weapon, and laugh in the face of the CIA for having slipped past their protections."

"Holy mother of-" Charlie suddenly reminded himself to breath. It was brilliant and absolutely sinister, all mixed into one.

"Charlie, you still with me?"

"Yeah, yeah…I'm here." His legs suddenly feeling weak, the young man sat down on the floor, right where he was.

"Look, we're at a disadvantage here because they've got intelligence, and men to lose. This is just a game for them, and we don't know what kind of tactics they'll try next. We were hoping that maybe you'd be able to do something with what we have so far. There's two comparable incidents, so maybe you could devise an equation to…" Don's voice didn't harbor much hope, but it sounded so desperate that Charlie couldn't inform the man that what he was asking was statistically impossible.

"I'll look at what we have, Don, but I don't have much hope that I'll be able to do much with it. I'm all done with classes and into my research block now, so I'll head on over." The mathematician did all he could to hide his own anxiety from his brother. Obviously, Don was under enough pressure without the added worry from his brother's fears.

"Thanks a lot, buddy. I really owe you."

"Don't worry about it." Charlie glanced up at Copland, who had been pretending quite convincingly that he was not listening to the conversation.

"Hey Charlie?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you know what AACJ stands for, besides the sum of multi-whatevers?"

"Uh…American Association for Creative Justice, I think."

"Why, it sounds so honorable and…kind." Don sounded disgusted.

"Yeah, well, you know, to these guys, science and discovery is everything. Even cold blooded murder." Charlie smiled without humor.

"Well, it's going to be an interesting ride. I'll see you in a bit." Charlie quickly snapped his phone shut, gesturing to Copland that they were leaving.

"Don needs me," he said simply, not wanting to elaborate. Alex shook his head as he followed the older man to the exit of the math wing.

"If your mouth were open a little wider, you might be able to swallow my office," the professor informed the agent, glancing back at him. Charlie realized that he found sadistic pleasure in antagonizing the agent, who took everything with relatively good humor. But then, Charlie supposed that he was used to the comments, being with the FBI.

"Sorry." The blonde wiped stands of golden hair out of his eyes, wincing at the harmless jab from the professor. "It's just weird… you know, the way you interact with Agent Epps and the way I'm used to seeing him." He shook his head, mystified.

"Yeah, well I once took a magic marker, and drew Euclid's proof of the Pythagorean Theorem on the _famous_ Agent Epps's forehead." The horrified look on the young agent's face was priceless.

"What did he do to get back at you?" He asked as they made their way outside. Charlie turned back towards the younger man, not feeling particularly charitable towards his _babysitter_.

"He pinned a rookie federal agent on me, who happens to _worship _him." Alex tripped slightly at the comment, wondering why he was taking so much abuse from the math genius.

"I know, it sounds like terrible revenge." Charlie continued, waving a hand as he strode towards the parking lot, his bag bouncing behind him. "But then, the whole marker incident _was_ the night before senior prom."


	9. Chapter 9

Title: Snowing on the Beach

Author: Lady-Daine

Rating: PG/K+ (May go up later for language/violence)

Author's Note: Thanks a bunch to everyone who reviewed! It always feels wonderful to get commentary. And, as always, big kudos to LOTRseer3350 for Beta reading- she is a magician that makes mud puddles into readable…sort of…fiction

Again, if you read this, and you don't mind, I do shamelessly _love_ to receive any and all comments, especially critique. No one is a perfect writer!

I'm sorry it took me so very long to update! It's the usual excuses- working, more working, you know the drill. Still, I know that it's a very poor excuse. But then again, there's been ChainFire and Harry Potter and many other tantalizing distractions!

Disclaimer: I have no affiliation with the T.V. show numb3rs, nor do I own any characters, concepts, or anything else relating to the show. I'm simply borrowing some of them because I was too lazy to make up my own. Don't sue me- I'm a Red Sox Fan _and_ a liberal!

**Snowing on the Beach**

**Chapter 9**

Charlie shook his head, closing his eyes as the unfamiliar ache of failure washed over him.

"There's nothing here, Don." He spoke the words with shame flavoring his soft voice. There was _always_ something there- a solution to every equation, even if it was imaginary. But with the sparse information he had, there was no deduction- no pattern or process that he could possibly compute. Nothing. Lily's words from the proceeding nights were uncomfortably ringing in his mind. _There is no solution_.

"Don't worry about it Charlie," his older brother peered at the mess of numbers and symbols scrawled across the whiteboard as though willing them to move themselves into proper formation. "I didn't expect you to find anything. I just…It was wishful thinking on my part."

"There's got to be something there!" The young mathematician lashed out, smashing his hand against the surface he had been working on, leaving a smudged marker handprint. The disappointment in his brother's voice had hurt- the feeling of letting down one who depended on him for answers, elusive answers. Charlie felt like a magician who had reached into his hat for a rabbit and realized that he had no hat- lost. A failure.

"No Charlie, there doesn't!" Don stood up from the swiveling chair that he had been lounging on and cleared the distance between himself and his brother in a few swift movements. Carefully, he detached Charlie's hand from the dry-erase marker he had been clutching, and pulled him away from the board. Methodically, the older man picked up a few available napkins that had been lying on his desk and grabbed at the mathematician's marker stained hands, trying to gently scrub off the ink that covered it. At first, the younger man tried to pull away, but Don's iron grip made it impossible to do so.

"Charlie, look at me." He refused, gazing back at the handprint among various matrices and an exponential function that didn't solve correctly.

"Now." Maybe there was another variable in the function. Or maybe it wasn't exponential. Maybe it was linear or quadratic or…

Don's hand seized his chin and forced the younger man to meet his eyes. "Charlie, we're dealing with a bunch of mini-Charlie characters. They're smart, and you're smart, and maybe you've become evenly matched. But there's a time when you simply don't have the right tools to give yourself an edge, and if you try to push forward without it, you'll only go in circles, exhausting yourself completely. And you can't do that, because we're going to find the right tool. And when we do, I'm going to need you." The frank sincerity that only an older brother could possibly display was enough to break the vicious cycle. Charlie let himself fall into Don's chair was a vague nod.

"Now I want you to go home, have a good meal, and get some sleep. Regenerate." Don smiled softly as a few dark curls fell into his younger brother's face untidily. Nothing more then a child sometimes, but now and then, a man whose utmost determinacy matched his own.

"But-"

"But nothing. You need to get some rest. If you really want to help, you can take Lily with you, and see if you can get her to do the same."

"You need it as much as I do." Charlie gazed up defiantly, studying the creases of fatigue that had settled in around Don's intelligent eyes.

"I'll come by…soon. I just want to finish a few thing up, tie some loose ends. Then I'll be home. I promise." Charlie smiled tiredly, knowing how long "tying loose ends" would take his brother.

"Be at my house before ten." he said, a challenge in his voice.

"midnight." Don recognized the argument.

"Nine." Charlie pouted.

"Ten, and that's my final offer. Believe it or not, you aren't mother and I don't have a curfew." The older Epps brother laughed and ruffled his brother's curls, antagonizing him. The mathematician rolled his eyes.

"Fine."

"And Charlie?"

"Hmm?" The younger man stood up to leave, his eyes a question.

"Be a little easier on Alex. He's just doing his job. And stop telling him incriminating stories. I could swear, he spent his entire briefing period staring at my forehead. I think he was looking for a certain formula."

Charlie smiled, truly smiled, eyes sunny and mind carefree, for what seemed like the first time in years.

21791827398172938718927389172398172

"We could use her as bait." David rubbed his eyes, willing himself home and fed. Hours of following dead ends were wearing on him.

"What?" Terry looked alarmed. She wondered if her companion's fatigue was catching up with him.

"They made a mistake with the second attempt. But I don't think it was a mistake, I think it was a ruse. It's too- hair brained- to really have been serious. Which leads me to believe that there's something cooking that's going to be served up really soon. So why don't we get her in an ideal kidnapping situation, say, a big funeral, or something, and get teams ready to pounce when they try something."

"No! Absolutely not!" Don glanced worriedly at the clock, praying that his brother wasn't waiting up for him. The hour hand seemed to have replaced the minute hand, and it was rapidly heading towards the twelve. "First of all, they're not going to send the real brains to take her out. They're going to hire out or something, like they have in the last attempt, and probably in the first, since I don't know many mathematicians who shoot shot-guns. Secondly, I'm not putting her well-being in jeopardy like that!"

"We can't cloister her here forever." David pointed out.

"No…" Terry trailed off, glancing at the still present hand-print in Charlie's equations. Don caught her line of sight and shot her an "I'll tell you later" glance.

"What do you suggest then?" David challenged, missing the exchange between his colleagues.

"We know it's this group of gazooks who are running the show. Let's get a warrant and pay them a visit. We're bound to find some trash lying around." Even as he said the words, he knew that they weren't true. The worst kind of criminal wasn't the guy in the ski mask who goes "bump" in the night. The worst were the ones who managed to stay silent.

"That's useless. We have almost nothing that would get us the warrant in the first place, and even less of a chance of finding anything." David made the words sound patronizing, almost condescending, on purpose, to demonstrate to his counterpart the true foolishness of his plan.

"I just want to get out of this with the girl intact, physically, and well, mentally, as much as that can be accomplished.

"Good luck with that one." Terry replied, almost lazily. Her eyes were half-closed and shutting fast.

"What if we had a big funeral for my mom, with lots of baubles and ribbons and stuff? That would lure them towards me. And then you could catch them." All three agents jumped visible inches out of their seats. Lily was standing in the doorway, her face utterly devoid of emotion, her eyes focused on Don. She was in running pants and a tee-shirt, and the redness in her face, a stark contract from the paleness of her other features, suggested that she had been running.

"Lily, what the-"

"How did you?"

"I ran here, and I used Charlie's access pass to get in. The guard at the door recognized me." She said it all in one breath as though impatient to get it out of the way.

"You took Charlie's access pass?" Don breathed in sharply, anger coming to his head in fast rushes. H

"No. He gave it to me."

"He gave it to you?" the agent looked nonplussed as he repeated the words.

"Yes."

"Did you tell him what you intended to do with it?"

"No." Don wondered if stress headaches could kill.

"You asked him if you could take his access pass to the FBI headquarters in Los Angeles and he handed it to you."

"Yes." Terry and David looked vaguely amused. Don was ready to shoot someone.

"You should do the bait idea though. It's your best bet." The older Epps brother wondered for a moment how much of the previous conversation Lily had overheard and how she felt about being labeled mentally "un-intact". It was surreal, having her there all of the sudden.

"You ran here in the dark? Do you know how dangerous that is? There's a group of people on the loose who very probably want you dead, and you're out running in the middle of the night? How can we keep you safe if you refuse to heed our warnings?"

"I never asked you to help me keep you safe." It wasn't a complaint, or a whining retort. It was just a comment.

"Wasn't Alex at home?"

"Yes."

"And he didn't stop you?" Lily shrugged.

"He didn't know I was leaving." Don decided that he was going to have a long talk with a certain agent later that evening.

"You can't just throw away all our efforts. There are people working for _hours_ to try and keep you safe, and you just ignore them. How is that fair?"

Lily ignored him and walked into the room further. Her eyes held nothing- they were focused and intense, almost the same as they looked while she was spinning.

"I'm going to compete in regional finals in a month. That's going to be open space, tons of crowds, and almost no security. If they have to wait until then to try and kidnap me, then they will, but that's going to be a good chance for them." She was frank and cold, and left no question in her intentions. She was going to compete if she had to hold a hostage to keep them from preventing her from going. Still…

"Well, if it's not safe then-"

"I'm going to compete in regional finals in a month."

"This is a lot more delicate then just planning something like an ambush that and carrying it out." Don protested. "It's not really legal, and it's dangerous and you know nothing about the sort of work that we do. You have no idea what that kind of operation would entail. It's not all fun and games and pointing guns."

"I don't want to live my life wondering when someone's going to turn around and shoot me."

"Well you shouldn't have to. We've put protection on you and we're working our butts off to get you assailants off the street, but you have to work with us here." Don began to wonder if this "Lily" in front of him wasn't just a bad hallucination.

"Don, I can't start over if I'm cooped up inside some building trying to hide from someone. I can't sleep, I can't breathe. I've been dancing to make everyone else happy, but it's become a cardboard motion. I can't take this. It's not just wondering when someone's going to try and kill me that's my problem. It's that I wish they'd hurry up and get on with it.


End file.
